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Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear.each other
groan ; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, 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, Or new Love pine at them beyond to
Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards :
But here there is no light,
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, and the pastoral eglantine ; Fast-fading violets cover'd up in leaves ;
And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
Darkling I listen ; and for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death, Calld 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, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstacy!
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird !
No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for
The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
a To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu ! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now ’tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades : Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:-do I wake or sleep ?
ODE ON A GRECIAN URN.
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness!
Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fringed'legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? [loath ? What men or gods are these? what maidens What mad pursuit ? What struggle to escape ? What pipes and timbrels? What wild
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not
leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never, canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal—yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy
bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair !
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu ;
For ever piping songs for ever new ;
For ever panting and for ever young ;
Who are these coming to the sacrifice ?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands
drest? What little town by river or sea-shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn? Ah! little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
O Attic shape! Fair attitude ! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of