Poet's corner No.12

I cry your mercy—pity—love!—aye, love!

   Merciful love that tantalizes not,

One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love,

   Unmasked, and being seen—without a blot!

O! let me have thee whole,—all—all—be mine!

   That shape, that fairness, that sweet minor zest

Of love, your kiss,—those hands, those eyes divine,

   That warm, white, lucent, million-pleasured breast,

Yourself—your soul—in pity give me all,

   Withhold no atom’s atom or I die

Or living on perhaps, your wretched thrall,

   Forget, in the mist of idle misery,

Life’s purposes,—the palate of my mind

   Losing its gust, and my ambition blind!

John Keats

I cry your mercy—pity—love!—aye, love!