The Pot Of Basil; Or, Isabella Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: A BABCBADD A EFEFEFGG A HIHIJIEE K LMLMLMNN K OPOPOPQQ K RSRSRSTT K UKVKVKWW K KEKEKEKK Q XGXGXGQQ Q EYEYEYFF Q ZA2ZA2ZA2QQ Q QVQVQVQQ Q KQKQKQQQ K B2QB2QB2QB2B2 K C2D2C2D2E2D2F2F2 K QQQQQQB2B2 K B2QB2QB2QRR K KB2KB2KB2EE Q QMQMQMGG Q A2B2A2B2A2B2G2G2 Q QB2QB2QB2QQ Q RH2RH2RH2GG Q B2B2B2B2B2B2QQ K B2I2B2J2B2J2QQ K K2B2K2B2G2B2B2B2 K PQPQPQQQ K L2GL2GM2GEE K N2QN2QN2QEE Q B2QB2QB2QQQ Q QM2QH2QH2EE Q K2B2G2B2K2B2B2B2 Q QRQQQRQQ Q QQQQQQB2B2 K QQQQQQO2P K GB2GB2GB2QQ K P2G2P2G2P2P2P2P2 K B2KB2KB2KQQ K B2B2B2B2B2B2GG Q QP2QP2QP2QQ Q QB2QB2QB2QQ Q B2QB2QB2QP2P2 Q KQKB2KQQQ Q B2Q2B2B2B2B2QQ K B2GB2GB2GB2B2 K B2QB2QB2QB2B2 K QQQQQQL2L2 K L2QL2QL2QEE K P2EP2EP2EKK Q QP2QP2QP2QQ Q B2B2B2B2B2B2B2B2 Q GQGQGQB2B2 Q QB2QQQB2B2B2 Q L2QL2QL2QEE K QEQEQEB2B2 E QQQEQQQQ E QL2QQQQGG E EEEEEEB2B2 E R2L2R2L2R2L2P2P2 Q B2L2B2L2B2L2EE Q B2QB2QB2QB2B2 Q P2P2P2EP2EB2B2 Q QP2QEQEQQ Q L2B2L2B2L2B2QQ| I | A |
| - | |
| Fair Isabel poor simple Isabel | B |
| Lorenzo a young palmer in Love's eye | A |
| They could not in the self same mansion dwell | B |
| Without some stir of heart some malady | C |
| They could not sit at meals but feel how well | B |
| It soothed each to be the other by | A |
| They could not sure beneath the same roof sleep | D |
| But to each other dream and nightly weep | D |
| - | |
| II | A |
| - | |
| With every morn their love grew tenderer | E |
| With every eve deeper and tenderer still | F |
| He might not in house field or garden stir | E |
| But her full shape would all his seeing fill | F |
| And his continual voice was pleasanter | E |
| To her than noise of trees or hidden rill | F |
| Her lute string gave an echo of his name | G |
| She spoilt her half done broidery with the same | G |
| - | |
| III | A |
| - | |
| He knew whose gentle hand was at the latch | H |
| Before the door had given her to his eyes | I |
| And from her chamber window he would catch | H |
| Her beauty farther than the falcon spies | I |
| And constant as her vespers would he watch | J |
| Because her face was turn'd to the same skies | I |
| And with sick longing all the night outwear | E |
| To hear her morning step upon the stair | E |
| - | |
| IV | K |
| - | |
| A whole long month of May in this sad plight | L |
| Made their cheeks paler by the break of June | M |
| To morrow will I bow to my delight | L |
| To morrow will I ask my lady's boon | M |
| O may I never see another night | L |
| Lorenzo if thy lips breathe not love's tune | M |
| So spake they to their pillows but alas | N |
| Honeyless days and days did he let pass | N |
| - | |
| V | K |
| - | |
| Until sweet Isabella's untouch'd cheek | O |
| Fell sick within the rose's just domain | P |
| Fell thin as a young mother's who doth seek | O |
| By every lull to cool her infant's pain | P |
| How ill she is said he I may not speak | O |
| And yet I will and tell my love all plain | P |
| If looks speak love laws I will drink her tears | Q |
| And at the least 'twill startle off her cares | Q |
| - | |
| VI | K |
| - | |
| So said he one fair morning and all day | R |
| His heart beat awfully against his side | S |
| And to his heart he inwardly did pray | R |
| For power to speak but still the ruddy tide | S |
| Stifled his voice and puls'd resolve away | R |
| Fever'd his high conceit of such a bride | S |
| Yet brought him to the meekness of a child | T |
| Alas when passion is both meek and wild | T |
| - | |
| VII | K |
| - | |
| So once more he had wak'd and anguished | U |
| A dreary night of love and misery | K |
| If Isabel's quick eye had not been wed | V |
| To every symbol on his forehead high | K |
| She saw it waxing very pale and dead | V |
| And straight all flush'd so lisped tenderly | K |
| Lorenzo here she ceas'd her timid quest | W |
| But in her tone and look he read the rest | W |
| - | |
| VIII | K |
| - | |
| O Isabella I can half perceive | K |
| That I may speak my grief into thine ear | E |
| If thou didst ever any thing believe | K |
| Believe how I love thee believe how near | E |
| My soul is to its doom I would not grieve | K |
| Thy hand by unwelcome pressing would not fear | E |
| Thine eyes by gazing but I cannot live | K |
| Another night and not my passion shrive | K |
| - | |
| IX | Q |
| - | |
| Love thou art leading me from wintry cold | X |
| Lady thou leadest me to summer clime | G |
| And I must taste the blossoms that unfold | X |
| In its ripe warmth this gracious morning time | G |
| So said his erewhile timid lips grew bold | X |
| And poesied with hers in dewy rhyme | G |
| Great bliss was with them and great happiness | Q |
| Grew like a lusty flower in June's caress | Q |
| - | |
| X | Q |
| - | |
| Parting they seem'd to tread upon the air | E |
| Twin roses by the zephyr blown apart | Y |
| Only to meet again more close and share | E |
| The inward fragrance of each other's heart | Y |
| She to her chamber gone a ditty fair | E |
| Sang of delicious love and honey'd dart | Y |
| He with light steps went up a western hill | F |
| And bade the sun farewell and joy'd his fill | F |
| - | |
| XI | Q |
| - | |
| All close they met again before the dusk | Z |
| Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil | A2 |
| All close they met all eves before the dusk | Z |
| Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil | A2 |
| Close in a bower of hyacinth and musk | Z |
| Unknown of any free from whispering tale | A2 |
| Ah better had it been for ever so | Q |
| Than idle ears should pleasure in their woe | Q |
| - | |
| XII | Q |
| - | |
| Were they unhappy then It cannot be | Q |
| Too many tears for lovers have been shed | V |
| Too many sighs give we to them in fee | Q |
| Too much of pity after they are dead | V |
| Too many doleful stories do we see | Q |
| Whose matter in bright gold were best be read | V |
| Except in such a page where Theseus' spouse | Q |
| Over the pathless waves towards him bows | Q |
| - | |
| XIII | Q |
| - | |
| But for the general award of love | K |
| The little sweet doth kill much bitterness | Q |
| Though Dido silent is in under grove | K |
| And Isabella's was a great distress | Q |
| Though young Lorenzo in warm Indian clove | K |
| Was not embalm'd this truth is not the less | Q |
| Even bees the little almsmen of spring bowers | Q |
| Know there is richest juice in poison flowers | Q |
| - | |
| XIV | K |
| - | |
| With her two brothers this fair lady dwelt | B2 |
| Enriched from ancestral merchandize | Q |
| And for them many a weary hand did swelt | B2 |
| In torched mines and noisy factories | Q |
| And many once proud quiver'd loins did melt | B2 |
| In blood from stinging whip with hollow eyes | Q |
| Many all day in dazzling river stood | B2 |
| To take the rich ored driftings of the flood | B2 |
| - | |
| XV | K |
| - | |
| For them the Ceylon diver held his breath | C2 |
| And went all naked to the hungry shark | D2 |
| For them his ears gush'd blood for them in death | C2 |
| The seal on the cold ice with piteous bark | D2 |
| Lay full of darts for them alone did seethe | E2 |
| A thousand men in troubles wide and dark | D2 |
| Half ignorant they turn'd an easy wheel | F2 |
| That set sharp racks at work to pinch and peel | F2 |
| - | |
| XVI | K |
| - | |
| Why were they proud Because their marble founts | Q |
| Gush'd with more pride than do a wretch's tears | Q |
| Why were they proud Because fair orange mounts | Q |
| Were of more soft ascent than lazar stairs | Q |
| Why were they proud Because red lin'd accounts | Q |
| Were richer than the songs of Grecian years | Q |
| Why were they proud again we ask aloud | B2 |
| Why in the name of Glory were they proud | B2 |
| - | |
| XVII | K |
| - | |
| Yet were these Florentines as self retired | B2 |
| In hungry pride and gainful cowardice | Q |
| As two close Hebrews in that land inspired | B2 |
| Paled in and vineyarded from beggar spies | Q |
| The hawks of ship mast forests the untired | B2 |
| And pannier'd mules for ducats and old lies | Q |
| Quick cat's paws on the generous stray away | R |
| Great wits in Spanish Tuscan and Malay | R |
| - | |
| XVIII | K |
| - | |
| How was it these same ledger men could spy | K |
| Fair Isabella in her downy nest | B2 |
| How could they find out in Lorenzo's eye | K |
| A straying from his toil Hot Egypt's pest | B2 |
| Into their vision covetous and sly | K |
| How could these money bags see east and west | B2 |
| Yet so they did and every dealer fair | E |
| Must see behind as doth the hunted hare | E |
| - | |
| XIX | Q |
| - | |
| O eloquent and famed Boccaccio | Q |
| Of thee we now should ask forgiving boon | M |
| And of thy spicy myrtles as they blow | Q |
| And of thy roses amorous of the moon | M |
| And of thy lilies that do paler grow | Q |
| Now they can no more hear thy ghittern's tune | M |
| For venturing syllables that ill beseem | G |
| The quiet glooms of such a piteous theme | G |
| - | |
| XX | Q |
| - | |
| Grant thou a pardon here and then the tale | A2 |
| Shall move on soberly as it is meet | B2 |
| There is no other crime no mad assail | A2 |
| To make old prose in modern rhyme more sweet | B2 |
| But it is done succeed the verse or fail | A2 |
| To honour thee and thy gone spirit greet | B2 |
| To stead thee as a verse in English tongue | G2 |
| An echo of thee in the north wind sung | G2 |
| - | |
| XXI | Q |
| - | |
| These brethren having found by many signs | Q |
| What love Lorenzo for their sister had | B2 |
| And how she lov'd him too each unconfines | Q |
| His bitter thoughts to other well nigh mad | B2 |
| That he the servant of their trade designs | Q |
| Should in their sister's love be blithe and glad | B2 |
| When 'twas their plan to coax her by degrees | Q |
| To some high noble and his olive trees | Q |
| - | |
| XXII | Q |
| - | |
| And many a jealous conference had they | R |
| And many times they bit their lips alone | H2 |
| Before they fix'd upon a surest way | R |
| To make the youngster for his crime atone | H2 |
| And at the last these men of cruel clay | R |
| Cut Mercy with a sharp knife to the bone | H2 |
| For they resolved in some forest dim | G |
| To kill Lorenzo and there bury him | G |
| - | |
| XXIII | Q |
| - | |
| So on a pleasant morning as he leant | B2 |
| Into the sun rise o'er the balustrade | B2 |
| Of the garden terrace towards him they bent | B2 |
| Their footing through the dews and to him said | B2 |
| You seem there in the quiet of content | B2 |
| Lorenzo and we are most loth to invade | B2 |
| Calm speculation but if you are wise | Q |
| Bestride your steed while cold is in the skies | Q |
| - | |
| XXIV | K |
| - | |
| To day we purpose ay this hour we mount | B2 |
| To spur three leagues towards the Apennine | I2 |
| Come down we pray thee ere the hot sun count | B2 |
| His dewy rosary on the eglantine | J2 |
| Lorenzo courteously as he was wont | B2 |
| Bow'd a fair greeting to these serpents' whine | J2 |
| And went in haste to get in readiness | Q |
| With belt and spur and bracing huntsman's dress | Q |
| - | |
| XXV | K |
| - | |
| And as he to the court yard pass'd along | K2 |
| Each third step did he pause and listen'd oft | B2 |
| If he could hear his lady's matin song | K2 |
| Or the light whisper of her footstep soft | B2 |
| And as he thus over his passion hung | G2 |
| He heard a laugh full musical aloft | B2 |
| When looking up he saw her features bright | B2 |
| Smile through an in door lattice all delight | B2 |
| - | |
| XXVI | K |
| - | |
| Love Isabel said he I was in pain | P |
| Lest I should miss to bid thee a good morrow | Q |
| Ah what if I should lose thee when so fain | P |
| I am to stifle all the heavy sorrow | Q |
| Of a poor three hours' absence but we'll gain | P |
| Out of the amorous dark what day doth borrow | Q |
| Good bye I'll soon be back Good bye said she | Q |
| And as he went she chanted merrily | Q |
| - | |
| XXVII | K |
| - | |
| So the two brothers and their murder'd man | L2 |
| Rode past fair Florence to where Arno's stream | G |
| Gurgles through straiten'd banks and still doth fan | L2 |
| Itself with dancing bulrush and the bream | G |
| Keeps head against the freshets Sick and wan | M2 |
| The brothers' faces in the ford did seem | G |
| Lorenzo's flush with love They pass'd the water | E |
| Into a forest quiet for the slaughter | E |
| - | |
| XXVIII | K |
| - | |
| There was Lorenzo slain and buried in | N2 |
| There in that forest did his great love cease | Q |
| Ah when a soul doth thus its freedom win | N2 |
| It aches in loneliness is ill at peace | Q |
| As the break covert blood hounds of such sin | N2 |
| They dipp'd their swords in the water and did tease | Q |
| Their horses homeward with convulsed spur | E |
| Each richer by his being a murderer | E |
| - | |
| XXIX | Q |
| - | |
| They told their sister how with sudden speed | B2 |
| Lorenzo had ta'en ship for foreign lands | Q |
| Because of some great urgency and need | B2 |
| In their affairs requiring trusty hands | Q |
| Poor Girl put on thy stifling widow's weed | B2 |
| And 'scape at once from Hope's accursed bands | Q |
| To day thou wilt not see him nor to morrow | Q |
| And the next day will be a day of sorrow | Q |
| - | |
| XXX | Q |
| - | |
| She weeps alone for pleasures not to be | Q |
| Sorely she wept until the night came on | M2 |
| And then instead of love O misery | Q |
| She brooded o'er the luxury alone | H2 |
| His image in the dusk she seem'd to see | Q |
| And to the silence made a gentle moan | H2 |
| Spreading her perfect arms upon the air | E |
| And on her couch low murmuring Where O where | E |
| - | |
| XXXI | Q |
| - | |
| But Selfishness Love's cousin held not long | K2 |
| Its fiery vigil in her single breast | B2 |
| She fretted for the golden hour and hung | G2 |
| Upon the time with feverish unrest | B2 |
| Not long for soon into her heart a throng | K2 |
| Of higher occupants a richer zest | B2 |
| Came tragic passion not to be subdued | B2 |
| And sorrow for her love in travels rude | B2 |
| - | |
| XXXII | Q |
| - | |
| In the mid days of autumn on their eves | Q |
| The breath of Winter comes from far away | R |
| And the sick west continually bereaves | Q |
| Of some gold tinge and plays a roundelay | Q |
| Of death among the bushes and the leaves | Q |
| To make all bare before he dares to stray | R |
| From his north cavern So sweet Isabel | Q |
| By gradual decay from beauty fell | Q |
| - | |
| XXXIII | Q |
| - | |
| Because Lorenzo came not Oftentimes | Q |
| She ask'd her brothers with an eye all pale | Q |
| Striving to be itself what dungeon climes | Q |
| Could keep him off so long They spake a tale | Q |
| Time after time to quiet her Their crimes | Q |
| Came on them like a smoke from Hinnom's vale | Q |
| And every night in dreams they groan'd aloud | B2 |
| To see their sister in her snowy shroud | B2 |
| - | |
| XXXIV | K |
| - | |
| And she had died in drowsy ignorance | Q |
| But for a thing more deadly dark than all | Q |
| It came like a fierce potion drunk by chance | Q |
| Which saves a sick man from the feather'd pall | Q |
| For some few gasping moments like a lance | Q |
| Waking an Indian from his cloudy hall | Q |
| With cruel pierce and bringing him again | O2 |
| Sense of the gnawing fire at heart and brain | P |
| - | |
| XXXV | K |
| - | |
| It was a vision In the drowsy gloom | G |
| The dull of midnight at her couch's foot | B2 |
| Lorenzo stood and wept the forest tomb | G |
| Had marr'd his glossy hair which once could shoot | B2 |
| Lustre into the sun and put cold doom | G |
| Upon his lips and taken the soft lute | B2 |
| From his lorn voice and past his loamed ears | Q |
| Had made a miry channel for his tears | Q |
| - | |
| XXXVI | K |
| - | |
| Strange sound it was when the pale shadow spake | P2 |
| For there was striving in its piteous tongue | G2 |
| To speak as when on earth it was awake | P2 |
| And Isabella on its music hung | G2 |
| Languor there was in it and tremulous shake | P2 |
| As in a palsied Druid's harp unstrung | P2 |
| And through it moan'd a ghostly under song | P2 |
| Like hoarse night gusts sepulchral briars among | P2 |
| - | |
| XXXVII | K |
| - | |
| Its eyes though wild were still all dewy bright | B2 |
| With love and kept all phantom fear aloof | K |
| From the poor girl by magic of their light | B2 |
| The while it did unthread the horrid woof | K |
| Of the late darken'd time the murderous spite | B2 |
| Of pride and avarice the dark pine roof | K |
| In the forest and the sodden turfed dell | Q |
| Where without any word from stabs he fell | Q |
| - | |
| XXXVIII | K |
| - | |
| Saying moreover Isabel my sweet | B2 |
| Red whortle berries droop above my head | B2 |
| And a large flint stone weighs upon my feet | B2 |
| Around me beeches and high chestnuts shed | B2 |
| Their leaves and prickly nuts a sheep fold bleat | B2 |
| Comes from beyond the river to my bed | B2 |
| Go shed one tear upon my heather bloom | G |
| And it shall comfort me within the tomb | G |
| - | |
| XXXIX | Q |
| - | |
| I am a shadow now alas alas | Q |
| Upon the skirts of human nature dwelling | P2 |
| Alone I chant alone the holy mass | Q |
| While little sounds of life are round me knelling | P2 |
| And glossy bees at noon do fieldward pass | Q |
| And many a chapel bell the hour is telling | P2 |
| Paining me through those sounds grow strange to me | Q |
| And thou art distant in Humanity | Q |
| - | |
| XL | Q |
| - | |
| I know what was I feel full well what is | Q |
| And I should rage if spirits could go mad | B2 |
| Though I forget the taste of earthly bliss | Q |
| That paleness warms my grave as though I had | B2 |
| A Seraph chosen from the bright abyss | Q |
| To be my spouse thy paleness makes me glad | B2 |
| Thy beauty grows upon me and I feel | Q |
| A greater love through all my essence steal | Q |
| - | |
| XLI | Q |
| - | |
| The Spirit mourn'd Adieu dissolv'd and left | B2 |
| The atom darkness in a slow turmoil | Q |
| As when of healthful midnight sleep bereft | B2 |
| Thinking on rugged hours and fruitless toil | Q |
| We put our eyes into a pillowy cleft | B2 |
| And see the spangly gloom froth up and boil | Q |
| It made sad Isabella's eyelids ache | P2 |
| And in the dawn she started up awake | P2 |
| - | |
| XLII | Q |
| - | |
| Ha ha said she I knew not this hard life | K |
| I thought the worst was simple misery | Q |
| I thought some Fate with pleasure or with strife | K |
| Portion'd us happy days or else to die | B2 |
| But there is crime a brother's bloody knife | K |
| Sweet Spirit thou hast school'd my infancy | Q |
| I'll visit thee for this and kiss thine eyes | Q |
| And greet thee morn and even in the skies | Q |
| - | |
| XLIII | Q |
| - | |
| When the full morning came she had devised | B2 |
| How she might secret to the forest hie | Q2 |
| How she might find the clay so dearly prized | B2 |
| And sing to it one latest lullaby | B2 |
| How her short absence might be unsurmised | B2 |
| While she the inmost of the dream would try | B2 |
| Resolv'd she took with her an aged nurse | Q |
| And went into that dismal forest hearse | Q |
| - | |
| XLIV | K |
| - | |
| See as they creep along the river side | B2 |
| How she doth whisper to that aged Dame | G |
| And after looking round the champaign wide | B2 |
| Shows her a knife What feverous hectic flame | G |
| Burns in thee child What good can thee betide | B2 |
| That thou should'st smile again The evening came | G |
| And they had found Lorenzo's earthy bed | B2 |
| The flint was there the berries at his head | B2 |
| - | |
| XLV | K |
| - | |
| Who hath not loiter'd in a green church yard | B2 |
| And let his spirit like a demon mole | Q |
| Work through the clayey soil and gravel hard | B2 |
| To see skull coffin'd bones and funeral stole | Q |
| Pitying each form that hungry Death hath marr'd | B2 |
| And filling it once more with human soul | Q |
| Ah this is holiday to what was felt | B2 |
| When Isabella by Lorenzo knelt | B2 |
| - | |
| XLVI | K |
| - | |
| She gaz'd into the fresh thrown mould as though | Q |
| One glance did fully all its secrets tell | Q |
| Clearly she saw as other eyes would know | Q |
| Pale limbs at bottom of a crystal well | Q |
| Upon the murderous spot she seem'd to grow | Q |
| Like to a native lily of the dell | Q |
| Then with her knife all sudden she began | L2 |
| To dig more fervently than misers can | L2 |
| - | |
| XLVII | K |
| - | |
| Soon she turn'd up a soiled glove whereon | L2 |
| Her silk had play'd in purple phantasies | Q |
| She kiss'd it with a lip more chill than stone | L2 |
| And put it in her bosom where it dries | Q |
| And freezes utterly unto the bone | L2 |
| Those dainties made to still an infant's cries | Q |
| Then 'gan she work again nor stay'd her care | E |
| But to throw back at times her veiling hair | E |
| - | |
| XLVIII | K |
| - | |
| That old nurse stood beside her wondering | P2 |
| Until her heart felt pity to the core | E |
| At sight of such a dismal labouring | P2 |
| And so she kneeled with her locks all hoar | E |
| And put her lean hands to the horrid thing | P2 |
| Three hours they labour'd at this travail sore | E |
| At last they felt the kernel of the grave | K |
| And Isabella did not stamp and rave | K |
| - | |
| XLIX | Q |
| - | |
| Ah wherefore all this wormy circumstance | Q |
| Why linger at the yawning tomb so long | P2 |
| O for the gentleness of old Romance | Q |
| The simple plaining of a minstrel's song | P2 |
| Fair reader at the old tale take a glance | Q |
| For here in truth it doth not well belong | P2 |
| To speak O turn thee to the very tale | Q |
| And taste the music of that vision pale | Q |
| - | |
| L | Q |
| - | |
| With duller steel than the Pers an sword | B2 |
| They cut away no formless monster's head | B2 |
| But one whose gentleness did well accord | B2 |
| With death as life The ancient harps have said | B2 |
| Love never dies but lives immortal Lord | B2 |
| If Love impersonate was ever dead | B2 |
| Pale Isabella kiss'd it and low moan'd | B2 |
| 'Twas love cold dead indeed but not dethroned | B2 |
| - | |
| LI | Q |
| - | |
| In anxious secrecy they took it home | G |
| And then the prize was all for Isabel | Q |
| She calm'd its wild hair with a golden comb | G |
| And all around each eye's sepulchral cell | Q |
| Pointed each fringed lash the smeared loam | G |
| With tears as chilly as a dripping well | Q |
| She drench'd away and still she comb'd and kept | B2 |
| Sighing all day and still she kiss'd and wept | B2 |
| - | |
| LII | Q |
| - | |
| Then in a silken scarf sweet with the dews | Q |
| Of precious flowers pluck'd in Araby | B2 |
| And divine liquids come with odorous ooze | Q |
| Through the cold serpent pipe refreshfully | Q |
| She wrapp'd it up and for its tomb did choose | Q |
| A garden pot wherein she laid it by | B2 |
| And cover'd it with mould and o'er it set | B2 |
| Sweet Basil which her tears kept ever wet | B2 |
| - | |
| LIII | Q |
| - | |
| And she forgot the stars the moon and sun | L2 |
| And she forgot the blue above the trees | Q |
| And she forgot the dells where waters run | L2 |
| And she forgot the chilly autumn breeze | Q |
| She had no knowledge when the day was done | L2 |
| And the new morn she saw not but in peace | Q |
| Hung over her sweet Basil evermore | E |
| And moisten'd it with tears unto the core | E |
| - | |
| LIV | K |
| - | |
| And so she ever fed it with thin tears | Q |
| Whence thick and green and beautiful it grew | E |
| So that it smelt more balmy than its peers | Q |
| Of Basil tufts in Florence for it drew | E |
| Nurture besides and life from human fears | Q |
| From the fast mouldering head there shut from view | E |
| So that the jewel safely casketed | B2 |
| Came forth and in perfumed leafits spread | B2 |
| - | |
| LV | E |
| - | |
| O Melancholy linger here awhile | Q |
| O Music Music breathe despondingly | Q |
| O Echo Echo from some sombre isle | Q |
| Unknown Lethean sigh to us O sigh | E |
| Spirits in grief lift up your heads and smile | Q |
| Lift up your heads sweet Spirits heavily | Q |
| And make a pale light in your cypress glooms | Q |
| Tinting with silver wan your marble tombs | Q |
| - | |
| LVI | E |
| - | |
| Moan hither all ye syllables of woe | Q |
| From the deep throat of sad Melpomene | L2 |
| Through bronzed lyre in tragic order go | Q |
| And touch the strings into a mystery | Q |
| Sound mournfully upon the winds and low | Q |
| For simple Isabel is soon to be | Q |
| Among the dead She withers like a palm | G |
| Cut by an Indian for its juicy balm | G |
| - | |
| LVII | E |
| - | |
| O leave the palm to wither by itself | E |
| Let not quick Winter chill its dying hour | E |
| It may not be those Baalites of pelf | E |
| Her brethren noted the continual shower | E |
| From her dead eyes and many a curious elf | E |
| Among her kindred wonder'd that such dower | E |
| Of youth and beauty should be thrown aside | B2 |
| By one mark'd out to be a Noble's bride | B2 |
| - | |
| LVIII | E |
| - | |
| And furthermore her brethren wonder'd much | R2 |
| Why she sat drooping by the Basil green | L2 |
| And why it flourish'd as by magic touch | R2 |
| Greatly they wonder'd what the thing might mean | L2 |
| They could not surely give belief that such | R2 |
| A very nothing would have power to wean | L2 |
| Her from her own fair youth and pleasures gay | P2 |
| And even remembrance of her love's delay | P2 |
| - | |
| LIX | Q |
| - | |
| Therefore they watch'd a time when they might sift | B2 |
| This hidden whim and long they watch'd in vain | L2 |
| For seldom did she go to chapel shrift | B2 |
| And seldom felt she any hunger pain | L2 |
| And when she left she hurried back as swift | B2 |
| As bird on wing to breast its eggs again | L2 |
| And patient as a hen bird sat her there | E |
| Beside her Basil weeping through her hair | E |
| - | |
| LX | Q |
| - | |
| Yet they contriv'd to steal the Basil pot | B2 |
| And to examine it in secret place | Q |
| The thing was vile with green and livid spot | B2 |
| And yet they knew it was Lorenzo's face | Q |
| The guerdon of their murder they had got | B2 |
| And so left Florence in a moment's space | Q |
| Never to turn again Away they went | B2 |
| With blood upon their heads to banishment | B2 |
| - | |
| LXI | Q |
| - | |
| O Melancholy turn thine eyes away | P2 |
| O Music Music breathe despondingly | P2 |
| O Echo Echo on some other day | P2 |
| From isles Lethean sigh to us O sigh | E |
| Spirits of grief sing not your Well a way | P2 |
| For Isabel sweet Isabel will die | E |
| Will die a death too lone and incomplete | B2 |
| Now they have ta'en away her Basil sweet | B2 |
| - | |
| LXII | Q |
| - | |
| Piteous she look'd on dead and senseless things | Q |
| Asking for her lost Basil amorously | P2 |
| And with melodious chuckle in the strings | Q |
| Of her lorn voice she oftentimes would cry | E |
| After the Pilgrim in his wanderings | Q |
| To ask him where her Basil was and why | E |
| 'Twas hid from her For cruel 'tis said she | Q |
| To steal my Basil pot away from me | Q |
| - | |
| LXIII | Q |
| - | |
| And so she pined and so she died forlorn | L2 |
| Imploring for her Basil to the last | B2 |
| No heart was there in Florence but did mourn | L2 |
| In pity of her love so overcast | B2 |
| And a sad ditty of this story born | L2 |
| From mouth to mouth through all the country pass'd | B2 |
| Still is the burthen sung O cruelty | Q |
| To steal my Basil pot away from me | Q |
John Keats
(1)
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About The Pot Of Basil; Or, Isabella
The Pot Of Basil; Or, Isabella is a poem by John Keats. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
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