John Keats — I cry your mercy—pity—love—ay love

To Fanny I cry your mercy—pity—love!—ay, love!      Merciful love that tantalises not One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love,      Unmask'd, 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!