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Or go to Rome, which is the sepulchre, Its charge to each; and if the seal is Oh! not of him, but of our joy: 'tis
Here, on one fountain of a mourning That ages, empires, and religions there mind, Lie buried in the ravage they have Break it not thou! too surely shalt thou wrought;
455 For such as he can lend,—they borrow Thine own well full, if thou returnest
not Glory from those who made the world Of tears and gall. From the world's their prey;
bitter wind And he is gathered to the kings of Seek shelter in the shadow of the thought
tomb. Who waged contention with their time's | What Adonais is, why fear we to be
decay, And of the past are all that cannot pass away.
The One remains, the many change and
pass; Go thou to Rome,-at once the Par Heaven's light forever shines, Earth's adise,
shadows fiy; The grave, the city, and the wilder
Life, like a dome of many-colored glass, ness;
Stains the white radiance of Eternity, And where its wrecks like shattered
Until Death tramples it to fragments.mountains rise,
Die, And flowering weeds and fragrant copses
If thou wouldst be with that which dress
thou dost seek!
- 465 The bones of Desolation's nakedness
Follow where all is fled !-Rome's azure Pass, till the Spirit of the spot shall
Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, Thy footsteps to a slope of green access
are weak Where, like an infant's smile, over the
The glory they transfuse with fitting dead
truth to speak. A light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread.
Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, And grey walls moulder round, on which my Heart? dull Time
Thy hopes are gone before: from all Feeds, like slow fire upon a hoary
They have departed; thou shouldst now And one keen pyramid with wedge sub
A light is past from the revolving Pavilioning the dust of him who
And man, and woman; and what still is
445 This refuge for his memory, doth stand
dear Like flame transformed to marble; and
Attracts to crush, repels to make thee beneath,
wither. A field is spread, on which a newer band
The soft sky smiles,—the low wind Have pitched in Heaven's smile their
475 camp of death,
'Tis Adonais calls! oh, hasten thither, Welcoming him we lose with scarce ex
No more let Life divide what Death can tinguished breath.
1 450 Here pause: these graves are all too That Light whose smile kindles the young as yet
Universe, To have outgrown the sorrow which That Beauty in which all things work consigned
That Benediction which the eclipsing A new Ulysses leaves once more
480 Calypso for his native shore.
Oh, write no more the tale of Troy, Which, through the web of being
If earth Death's scroll must be! 20 blindly wove
Nor mix with Laian rage the joy By man and beast and earth and air and
Which dawns upon the free:
Although a subtler Sphinx renew
Riddles of death Thebes never knew.
25 The fire for which all thirst, now beams
And to remoter time on me,
485 Bequeath, like sunset to the skies, Consuming the last clouds of cold mor The splendor of its prime; tality.
And leave, if naught so bright may live,
All earth can take or Heaven can give. 30 The breath whose might I have invoked in song
Saturn and Love their long repose Descends on me; my spirit's bark is! Shall burst, more bright and good driven
Than all who fell, than One who rose, Far from the shore, far from the trem
Than many unsubdued: bling throng
Not gold, not blood, their altar dowers, 35 Whose sails were never to the tempest
But votive tears and symbol flowers. given;
Oh, cease! must hate and death return? The massy earth and spherèd skies
Cease! must men kill and die? are riven!
Cease! drain not to its dregs the urn I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar;
Of bitter prophecy. Whilst, burning through the inmost
The world is weary of the past, veil of Heaven,
Oh, might it die or rest at last!
WHEN THE LAMP IS SHATTERED
FINAL CHORUS FROM HELLAS
When the lamp is shattered,
The light in the dust lies dead; The world's great age begins anew,
When the cloud is scattered, The golden years return,
The rainbow's glory is shed. The earth doth like a snake renew
When the lute is broken, Her winter weeds outworn:
Sweet tones are remembered not; Heaven smiles, and faiths and empires | When the lips have spoken, gleam,
Loved accents are soon forgot. Like wrecks of a dissolving dream.
As music and splendor
Survive not the lamp and the lute, A brighter Hellas rears its mountains
The heart's echoes render From waves serener far; .
No song when the spirit is mute:A new Peneus rolls his fountains
No song but sad dirges, Against the morning-star.
Like the wind through a ruined cell, Where fairer Tempes bloom, there sleep
| Or the mournful surges Young Cyclads on a sunnier deep.
That ring the dead seaman's knell. A loftier Argo cleaves the main,
When hearts have once mingled, Fraught with a later prize;
Love first leaves the well-built nest; Another Orpheus sings again,
15 The weak one is singled And loves, and weeps, and dies. | To endure what it once possessed.
O Love! who bewailest
Now, in humbler, happier lot, The frailty of all things here,
This is all remembered not; Why choose you the frailest
And now, alas! the poor sprite is For your cradle, your home, and your | Imprisoned, for some fault of his, bier?
In a body like a grave;
From you he only dares to crave,
For his service and his sorrow,
Bright reason will mock thee,
The artist who this idol wrought, From thy nest every rafter
To echo all harmonious thought, Will rot, and thine eagle home
30 Felled a tree, while on the steep 45 Leave thee naked to laughter,
The woods were in their winter sleep,
On the wind-swept Apennine;
And some of Spring approaching fast, 50 WITH A GUITAR, TO JANE And some of April buds and showers,
And some of songs in July bowers, Ariel to Miranda:Take
And all of love; and so this tree,This slave of Music, for the sake
Oh, that such our death may be!Of him who is the slave of thee,
Died in sleep, and felt no pain, ;5 And teach it all the harmony
To live in happier form again: In which thou canst, and only thou, 5 From which, beneath Heaven's fairest Make the delighted spirit glow,
star, Till joy denies itself again,
The artist wrought this loved Guitar,
To all who question skilfully,
In language gentle as thine own; Poor Ariel sends this silent token
Whispering in enamored tone Of more than ever can be spoken;
Sweet oracles of woods and dells, Your guardian spirit, Ariel, who,
And summer winds in sylvan cells; From life to life, must still pursue
For it had learned all harmonies Your happiness;—for thus alone
Of the plains and of the skies, Can Ariel ever find his own.
Of the forests and the mountains, From Prospero's enchanted cell,
And the many-voicèd fountains; As the mighty verses tell,
The clearest echoes of the hills, To the throne of Naples, he
The softest notes of falling rills, Lit you o'er the trackless sea,
The melodies of birds and bees, Flitting on, your prow before,
The murmuring of summer seas, Like a living meteor.
And pattering rain, and breathing dew, When you die, the silent Moon,
And airs of evening; and it knew In her interlunar swoon,
That seldom-heard mysterious sound, 75 Is not sadder in her cell
25 Which, driven on its diurnal round, Than deserted Ariel.
As it floats through boundless day, When you live again on earth,
Our world enkindles on its wayLike an unseen star of birth,
All this it knows, but will not tell Ariel guides you o'er the sea
To those who cannot question well 80 Of life from your nativity.
30 | The spirit that inhabits it; Many changes have been run,
It talks according to the wit Since Ferdinand and you begun
Of its companions; and no more Your course of love, and Ariel still
Is heard than has been felt before, Has tracked your steps, and served your By those who tempt it to betray will;
| These secrets of an elder day:
But sweetly as its answers will Why were ye not awake? But ye were
wed To musty laws lined out with wretched
And compass vile: so that ye taught a JOHN KEATS (1796–1821)
35 Of dolts to smooth, inlay, and clip, and fit, From SLEEP AND POETRY Till, like the certain wands of Jacob's wit,
Their verses tallied. Easy was the task: Is there so small a range
A thousand handicraftsmen wore the In the present strength of manhood, that mask the high
Of Poesy. Ill-fated, impious race! 40 Imagination cannot freely fly
That blasphemed the bright Lyrist to As she was wont of old? prepare her steeds,
And did not know it.no, they went Paw up against the light, and do strange | And did not know it,-no, they deeds
about, Upon the clouds? Has she not shown us Holding a poor, decrepit standard out, all?
Marked with most flimsy mottoes, and in From the clear space of ether, to the small large Breath of new buds unfolding? From | The name of one Boileau!
45 the meaning Of Jove's large eyebrow, to the tender
greening Of April meadows? Here her altar shone, From ENDYMION, BOOK I E’en in this isle; and who could paragon The fervid choir that lifted up a noise A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Of harmony, to where it aye will poise Its loveliness increases; it will never Its mighty self of convoluting sound, Pass into nothingness; but still will keep Huge as a planet, and like that roll round, A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Eternally around a dizzy void?
16 Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet Ay, in those days the muses were nigh breathing. cloyed
Therefore, on every morrow, are we With honors; nor had any other care
wreathing Than to sing out and soothe their wavy A flowery band to bind us to the earth, hair.
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman Could all this be forgotten? Yes, a dearth schism
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, Nurtured by foppery and barbarism, Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened Made great Apollo blush for this his land. ways
10 Men were thought wise who could not Made for our searching: yes, in spite of understand
all, His glories; with a puling infant's force Some shape of beauty moves away the pall They swayed about upon a rocking-horse, From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the And thought it Pegasus. Ah, dismal moon, souled!
26 Trees old and young, sprouting a shady The winds of heaven blew, the ocean I boon rolled
For simple sheep: and such are daffodils 15 Its gathering waves—ye felt it not. The With the green world they live in; and blue
clear rills Bared its eternal bosom, and the dew That for themselves a cooling covert make Of summer nights collected still to make 30 'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest The morning precious: beauty was awake! | brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose | LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI
blooms: And such too is the grandeur of the dooms O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, We have imagined for the mighty dead; 21 Alone and palely loitering? All lovely tales that we have heard or The sedge has withered from the lake, read:
And no birds sing. An endless fountain of immortal drink, Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink. O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, 5 Nor do we merely feel these essences 25
| So haggard and so woe-begone? For one short hour; no, even as the trees
| The squirrel's granary is full,
| I see a lily on thy brow Haunt us till they become a cheering night With anguish moist and fever dew; 10
our souls, and bound to us so fast, 31 | And on thy cheeks a fading rose That, whether there be shine, or gloom
Fast withereth too.
“I met a lady in the meads,
| Full beautiful-a faery's child; Will trace the story of Endymion. - 35
| Her hair was long, her foot was light,
| The very music of the name has gone
15 Into my being, and each pleasant scene
And her eyes were wild.
“I made a garland for her head,
45 For sideways would she lean, and sing Grows lush in juicy stalks, I'll smoothly A faery's song.
steer My little boat, for many quiet hours, "She found me roots of relish sweet, 25 With streams that deepen freshly into And honey wild, and manna-dew, bowers.
And sure in language strange she saidMany and many a verse I hope to write, 'I love thee true. Before the daisies, vermeil rimmed and white,
“She took me to her elfin grot, Hide in deep herbage; and ere yet the bees And there she wept, and sighed full sore,30 Hum about globes of clover and sweet And there I shut her wild, wild eyes, peas,
With kisses four. I must be near the middle of my story. O may no wintry season, bare and hoary, | “And there she lulled me asleep See it half finished: but let Autumn bold, 55 And there I dreamed-ah! woe betide! With universal tinge of sober gold,
The latest dream I ever dreamed 35 Be all about me when I make an end. On the cold hill's side. And now at once, adventuresome, I send My herald thought into a wilderness:
“I saw pale kings and princes too, There let its trumpet blow, and quickly
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all, dress
Who cried— La Belle Dame sans Merci My uncertain path with green, that I
Hath thee in thrall!' may speed Easily onward, thorough flowers and weed.