3. Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, morrow. 4. Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, eves. 6. Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain To thy high requiem become a sod. 7. Thou was not born for death, immortal Bird! She stood in tears amid the alien corn; 8. Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Was it a vision, or a waking dream? ODE ON A GRECIAN URN. 1. THOU still unravish'd bride of quietness! A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape Of deities, or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loath? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? 2. Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone : Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal-yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! 3. Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed For ever piping songs for ever new; For ever panting and for ever young; Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? What little town by river or sea-shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, 5. O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,"—that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. ODE TO PSYCHE. O GODDESS! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung| The winged Psyche with awaken'd eyes! And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise, Saw two fair creatures, couched side by side In deepest grass, beneath the whisp'ring roof Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran A brooklet, scarce espied: But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove? O latest-born and loveliest vision far Or Vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky; Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none, Nor altar heap'd with flowers; Nor virgin-choir to make delicious moan No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet O brightest though too late for antique vows, Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet Thy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind: And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees, The moss-lain Dryads shall be lull'd to sleep; And in the midst of this wide quietness A rosy sanctuary will I dress With the wreathed trellis of a working brain, With buds, and bells, and stars without a name, With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign, Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same: And there shall be for thee all soft delight That shadowy thought can win, A bright torch, and a casement ope at night, To let the warm Love in! FANCY. EVER let the Fancy roam, To banish Even from her sky. Fancy, high commission'd: send her! And thou shalt quaff it :-thou shalt hear |