Hôm trước ngày lễ thánh Agnes (33) The Eve of St Agnes (33)

The Eve of St Agnes (33)

Awakening up, he took her hollow lute,--
Tumultuous,--and, in chords that tenderest be,
He play’d an ancient ditty, long since mute,
In Provence call’d, “La belle dame sans mercy”:
Close to her ear touching the melody;--
Wherewith disturb’d, she utter’d a soft moan:
He ceas’d--she panted quick--and suddenly
Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone:
Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone.