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, C 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! And purple-stained mouth ; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, 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, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, 25 30 Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee! tender is the night, 35 And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown 5. I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, 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, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, a To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, с To cease upon the midnight with no pain, ♣ In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain 50 55 60 65 70 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 As she is fam'd to do, dec_ng elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, 175 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 |