Not Aladdin magian  

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Not Aladdin magian is a poem by John Keats.

Not Aladdin magian Ever such a work began; Not the Wizard of the Dee Ever such a dream could see; Not St. John, in Patmos’ isle, In the passion of his toil, When he saw the churches seven, Golden aisl’d, built up in heaven, Gaz’d at such a rugged wonder. As I stood its roofing under, Lo! I saw one sleeping there, On the marble cold and bare. While the surges wash’d his feet, And his garments white did beat Drench’d about the sombre rocks, On his neck his well-grown locks, Lifted dry above the main, Were upon the curl again. “What is this? and what art thou?” Whisper’d I and touch’d his brow. “What art thou? and what is this?” Whisper’d I, and strove to kiss The spirit’s hand, to wake his eyes. Up he started in a trice. “I am Lycidas, ” said he, “Fam’d in funeral minstrelsy! This was architected thus By the great Oceanus! — Here his mighty waters play Hollow organs all the day; Here by turns his dolphins all, Finny palmers great and small, Come to pay devotion due — Each a mouth of pearls must strew. Many a mortal of these days, Dares to pass our sacred ways, Dares to touch audaciously This cathedral of the sea! I have been the pontif-priest Where the waters never rest, Where a fledgy sea-bird choir Soars for ever; holy fire I have hid from mortal man; Proteus is my sacristan. But the stupid eye of mortal Hath pass’d beyond the rocky portal; So for ever will I leave Such a taint, and soon unweave All the magic of the place. ’Tis now free to stupid face, To cutters and to fashion boats, To cravats and to petticoats. The great sea shall war it down, For its fame shall not be blown At every farthing quadrille dance.” So saying, with a spirit’s glance He dived —

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