I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:Īnd haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Where but to think is to be full of sorrow Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, Here, where men sit and hear each other groan What thou among the leaves hast never known, That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,Īnd with thee fade away into the forest dim:įade far away, dissolve, and quite forget O, for a draught of vintage! that hath beenĬool’d a long age in the deep-delved earth,ĭance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!įull of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains Read the beautiful poem, Ode to a Nightingale, in full below. He is also responsible for Ode to Psyche, To Autumn, Bright Star, and many more. John Keats was an English Romantic Poet, and despite his works being in publication only for only four years before his untimely death aged 25, he was one of the main figures in the movement alongside Percy Bysshe Shelley and Lord Byron. Said to have been inspired by a Nightingale’s song, it is one of the most studied in the English language. Ode to a Nightingale is a poem by John Keats, written in 1819.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |