POEMS. ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE. I. My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains & One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, 5 2. 10 for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth ! Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim: 15 20 3. Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs, Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, 4. Away! away! for I will fly to thee, 25 30 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, 35 And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. 40 5. I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; White hawthorn, ande pastoral eglantine; Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves; And mid-May's eldest child, 45 The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, > The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. 6. Darkling I listen; and, for many a time. I have been half in love with easeful Death, Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain 7. Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam 8. Forlorn the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well 50 55 60 65 70 As she is fam'd to do, dec_ng elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades 75 Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 't is buried deep Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music : Do I wake or sleep? ODE ON A GRECIAN URN. 80 I. THOU still unravish'd bride of quietness, a In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?"2 What men or gods are these? What maidens both ? 5 IO 2. Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard -- Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave C- Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal-yet, do not grieve; 15 20 |