Ode on a Grecian Urn BY JOHN KEATSThou 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-fring’d legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
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;And, happy melodist, unwearied, For ever piping songs for ever new;More happy love! more happy, happy love! For ever warm and still to be enjoy’d, For ever panting, and for ever young;All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy’d, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
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 this folk, this pious morn?And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e’er return.
Not nearly as famous as Air On A G-String, from a musical work by Bach. I used to think it was caused by hanging the g-string on a clothesline, but I was wrong. I’ll be Bach, soon.
blunebottle almost 2 years ago
O, gee, that urned a groan.
i_am_the_jam almost 2 years ago
There’s a pun here?
mike.firesmith almost 2 years ago
Ode on a Grecian Urn BY JOHN KEATSThou 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-fring’d legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
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;And, happy melodist, unwearied, For ever piping songs for ever new;More happy love! more happy, happy love! For ever warm and still to be enjoy’d, For ever panting, and for ever young;All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy’d, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
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 this folk, this pious morn?And, 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!
Darryl Heine almost 2 years ago
Why a GEODE?
amaneaux almost 2 years ago
What’s a Grecian urn?
About €16,000.
Zebrastripes almost 2 years ago
This is crystal clear….the urn runneth over…
Chithing Premium Member almost 2 years ago
What kind of geode looks like a petrified loaf of bread?
Frank Burns Eats Worms almost 2 years ago
Poetry not in motion.
oakie817 almost 2 years ago
nothing to write home about
cactusbob333 almost 2 years ago
Not nearly as famous as Air On A G-String, from a musical work by Bach. I used to think it was caused by hanging the g-string on a clothesline, but I was wrong. I’ll be Bach, soon.
Buckaroobanzai almost 2 years ago
…and chin on a security guard