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Ode To A Nightingale - Poem by John Keats

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thy happiness,---
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

O for a draught of vintage, that hath been
Cooled a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provencal song, and sun-burnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

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 tomorrow.

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:
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Clustered around by all her starry fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

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 covered 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,
Called 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 ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain---
To thy high requiem become a sod

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 home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that oft-times hath
Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
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?

Comments about Ode To A Nightingale by John Keats

  • Gold Star - 7,962 Points Mohammad Jahoorul Islam (8/2/2016 1:31:00 PM)

    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: wen i read it i imagined the bird's free life too....a consolation from pangs of life.....evergreen poem ever read...... (Report) Reply

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Gold Star - 41,624 Points Tom Billsborough (5/19/2016 9:38:00 AM)

    If I was to list my ten favourite poems in English at least four of them would be by John Keats. This is one of them for sure. If we count Shakespeare best for plays I think we should leave the field with just one contender for the position of best ever pure poet. Keats. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie - 57 Points Brenna Franklin (1/13/2016 2:36:00 PM)

    One of my favorite poems, it catches you and won't let go. The text is I think old English, but has a bit of modern day. I will forever pick this poem apart. (Report) Reply

Read all 13 comments »

Poems About Ode

  1. 1. Ode To A Nightingale , John Keats
  2. 2. Ode On Intimations Of Immortality From R.. , William Wordsworth
  3. 3. Bki:Xiv The Ship Of State , Horace
  4. 4. Ode To The Confederate Dead , Allen Tate
  5. 5. Ode To Aphrodite , Sappho
  6. 6. To His Young Mistress , Pierre de Ronsard
  7. 7. Ode To Sir William Sydney, On His Birthday , Ben Jonson
  8. 8. Ode To The West Wind , Percy Bysshe Shelley
  9. 9. Ode On A Grecian Urn , John Keats
  10. 10. Alexander's Feast; Or, The Power Of Music , John Dryden
  11. 11. Ode To My Socks , Pablo Neruda
  12. 12. America , Robert Creeley
  13. 13. Ode To Spring , Frederick Seidel.
  14. 14. Ode On Solitude , Alexander Pope
  15. 15. Homage To My Hips , Lucille Clifton
  16. 16. The Bard , Thomas Gray
  17. 17. To The Immortal Memory And Friendship Of.. , Ben Jonson
  18. 18. Ode To Autumn , John Keats
  19. 19. Ode To A Large Tuna In The Market , Pablo Neruda
  20. 20. To A Skylark , Percy Bysshe Shelley
  21. 21. An Horatian Ode Upon Cromwell's Return F.. , Andrew Marvell
  22. 22. Bki:Xxx Ode To Venus , Horace
  23. 23. The Progress Of Poesy , Thomas Gray
  24. 24. For The Fallen , Robert Laurence Binyon
  25. 25. Ode To Sadness , Pablo Neruda
  26. 26. The Grasse-Hopper , Richard Lovelace
  27. 27. Sapphics , Algernon Charles Swinburne
  28. 28. An Ode To Himself , Ben Jonson
  29. 29. Ode To Liberty , Percy Bysshe Shelley
  30. 30. Dejection: An Ode , Samuel Taylor Coleridge
  31. 31. Ode To Psyche , John Keats
  32. 32. Ode On A Distant Prospect Of Eton College , Thomas Gray
  33. 33. Ode To The Book , Pablo Neruda
  34. 34. Ode On St. Cecilia's Day , Alexander Pope
  35. 35. To Coleridge , Percy Bysshe Shelley
  36. 36. On The Death Of Richard West , Thomas Gray
  37. 37. Ode , John Donne
  38. 38. Ode To Wine , Pablo Neruda
  39. 39. Ode To Heaven , Percy Bysshe Shelley
  40. 40. Ode On Melancholy , John Keats
  41. 41. Ode To Sara, In Answer To A Letter From .. , Samuel Taylor Coleridge
  42. 42. A Pindaric Ode , Ben Jonson
  43. 43. Ode On The Spring , Thomas Gray
  44. 44. Ode To Naples , Percy Bysshe Shelley
  45. 45. The Quaker Graveyard In Nantucket , Robert Lowell
  46. 46. Ode To Salt , Pablo Neruda
  47. 47. Ode On The Death Of A Favourite Cat Drow.. , Thomas Gray
  48. 48. Ode To Broken Things , Pablo Neruda
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