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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 - 11,344 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

    1 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • Gold Star - 54,206 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 A Grecian Urn , John Keats
  3. 3. Ode To Autumn , John Keats
  4. 4. Ode To The West Wind , Percy Bysshe Shelley
  5. 5. Ode On Solitude , Alexander Pope
  6. 6. Ode To Sadness , Pablo Neruda
  7. 7. Ode To The Book , Pablo Neruda
  8. 8. Ode To Wine , Pablo Neruda
  9. 9. Ode To Salt , Pablo Neruda
  10. 10. Ode To A Large Tuna In The Market , Pablo Neruda
  11. 11. Ode To Maize , Pablo Neruda
  12. 12. Ode On Intimations Of Immortality From R.. , William Wordsworth
  13. 13. Ode , Joseph Addison
  14. 14. Ode On Melancholy , John Keats
  15. 15. Ode To Neptune , Phillis Wheatley
  16. 16. Ode To Pity , Jane Austen
  17. 17. Ode To A Loved One , Sappho
  18. 18. Fragment Of An Ode To Maia , John Keats
  19. 19. Ode On Indolence , John Keats
  20. 20. Ode To Fanny , John Keats
  21. 21. Oxford Cheese Ode , James McIntyre
  22. 22. Ode To Psyche , John Keats
  23. 23. Ode , John Keats
  24. 24. Ode On The Mammoth Cheese , James McIntyre
  25. 25. Ode To Beauty , Ralph Waldo Emerson
  26. 26. Dejection: An Ode , Samuel Taylor Coleridge
  27. 27. Ode , Arthur William Edgar O'Shaug ..
  28. 28. Ode On The Death Of A Favourite Cat Drow.. , Thomas Gray
  29. 29. E.P. Ode Pour L'Election De Son Sepulchre , Ezra Pound
  30. 30. Ode To Meaning , Robert Pinsky
  31. 31. Ode On A Distant Prospect Of Eton College , Thomas Gray
  32. 32. Ode On The Spring , Thomas Gray
  33. 33. Ode To Silence , Edna St. Vincent Millay
  34. 34. Uriconium: An Ode , Wilfred Owen
  35. 35. Plutonian Ode , Allen Ginsberg
  36. 36. Ode To Duty , William Wordsworth
  37. 37. Solitude: An Ode , Alexander Pope
  38. 38. Ode Composed On A May Morning , William Wordsworth
  39. 39. Ode To H.H. The Nizam Of Hyderabad , Sarojini Naidu
  40. 40. Ode To Being Five (Children) , C.J. Heck
  41. 41. Ode To A Dressmaker's Dummy , Donald Justice
  42. 42. An Ode, On The Death Of Mr. Henry Purcell , John Dryden
  43. 43. France: An Ode , Samuel Taylor Coleridge
  44. 44. Despondency -- An Ode , Robert Burns
  45. 45. Ode On The Pleasure Arising From Vicissi.. , Thomas Gray
  46. 46. Ode To The Confederate Dead , Allen Tate
  47. 47. Ode On Adversity , Mary Darby Robinson
  48. 48. The Ode Of Ántara (Alternate Translation) , Antarah (Antar) Ibn Shaddad
  49. 49. Dairy Ode , James McIntyre
  50. 50. Ode , Ralph Waldo Emerson
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