But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown V. I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, VI. 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, Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain— VII. Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! Through the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home, The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam VIII. 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? Fled is that music:-do I wake or sleen? ODE ON A GRECIAN URN. I. THOU still unravish'd bride of quietness! A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What maidens loath? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? II. Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone : Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, III. Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; For ever piping songs for ever new ; IV. Who are these coming to the sacrifice? Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. V. O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other wo Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, 66 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 By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear, And pardon that thy secrets should be sung, Even into thine own soft-couched ear: Surely I dreamt to-day, or did I see The winged Psyche with awaken'd eyes? I wander'd in a forest thoughtlessly, And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise, Saw two fair creatures, couched side by side But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown V. I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, VI. 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, Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain— |