XLVIII Or go to Rome, which is the sepulchre, XLIX 425 430 Go thou to Rome, at once the paradise,' The grave, the city, and the wilderness; And where its wrecks like shattered mountains rise, 435 And flowering weeds and fragrant copses dress The bones of Desolation's nakedness Pass, till the Spirit of the spot shall lead Thy footsteps to a slope of green access Where, like an infant's smile, over the dead 440 A light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread; L And grey walls moulder round, on which dull Time Feeds, like slow fire upon a hoary brand; And one keen pyramid with wedge sublime, 445 Like flame transformed to marble; and beneath, A field is spread, on which a newer band Have pitched in Heaven's smile their camp of death, Welcoming him we lose with scarce extinguished breath. 450 LI Here pause these graves are all too young as yet Of tears and gall. From the world's bitter wind What Adonais is, why fear we to become? LII The One remains, the many change and pass; Until Death tramples it to fragments. Die, If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek! LIII Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my Heart? 455 460 465 470 And man, and woman; and what still is dear Attracts to crush, repels to make thee wither. The soft sky smiles, the low wind whispers near: 'Tis Adonais calls! oh, hasten thither, 475 No more let Life divide what Death can join together. LIV That light whose smile kindles the Universe, Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love LV The breath whose might I have invoked in song Whilst burning through the inmost veil of Heaven, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are. A LAMENT O WORLD! O life! O time! On whose last steps I climb, Trembling at that where I had stood before; 480 485 490 495 When will return the glory of your prime? No more-oh, never more! Out of the day and night A joy has taken flight; Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar, 5 10 JOHN KEATS 1795-1821 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, II O for a draught of vintage! that hath been Tasting of Flora and the country green, 5 ΙΟ Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South, 15 Full of the true, the blissful Hippocrene, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, III Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, 20 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; And leaden-eyed despairs, Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. IV Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, 23 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, But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown V I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, Wherewith the seasonable month endows And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. 45 50 |