Thus ending, on the shrine he heapd a spire Of teeming sweets, enkindling sacred fire; Anon he staind the thick and spongy sod With wine, in honour of the shepherd-god. Yet it is strange, and sad, alas! His youth was fully blown, Shewing like Ganymede to manhood grown; And, for those simple times, his garments were A chieftain kings: beneath his breast, half bare, Was hung a silver bugle, and between His nervy knees there lay a boar-spear keen. No fair dawnOf life from charitable voice? Smithers, 1899 and The Importance of Being Earnest E. So after my own heart! Wilt be content to dwell with her, to shareThis sister's love with me? Surely some influence rare Went, spiritual, through the damsel's hand; For still, with Delphic emphasis, she spann'd The quick invisible strings, even though she saw Endymion's spirit melt away and thaw Before the deep intoxication. Dear maid, sithThou art my executioner, and I feelLoving and hatred, misery and weal,Will in a few short hours be nothing to me,And all my story that much passion slew me;Do smile upon the evening of my days:And, for my tortur'd brain begins to craze,Be thou my nurse; and let me understandHow dying I shall kiss that lily hand. The falling dew is cold and chill, And no bird sings in Arcady, The little fauns have left the hill, Even the tired daffodil Has closed its gilded doors, and still My lover comes not back to me.
Shelley also exaggerated the effect that the criticism had on Keats, attributing his declining health over the following years to a spirit broken by the negative reviews. No more will I count over, link by link, My chain of grief: no longer strive to find A half-forgetfulness in mountain wind Blustering about my ears: aye, thou shalt see, Dearest of sisters, what my life shall be; What a calm round of hours shall make my days. Echo hence shall stir No sighs but sigh-warm kisses, or light noise Of thy combing hand, the while it travelling cloys And trembles through my labyrinthine hair. A wonder, fair as any I have told The same bright face I tasted in my sleep, Smiling in the clear well. While everyone celebrates, the older shepherds go aside with Endymion to talk about their lives—and the afterlife. O that she would take my vows, And breathe them sighingly among the boughs, To sue her gentle ears for whose fair head, Daily, I pluck sweet flowerets from their bed, And weave them dyingly--send honey-whispers Round every leaf, that all those gentle lispers May sigh my love unto her pitying! Oft have I brought thee flowers, on their stalks set Like vestal primroses, but dark velvet Edges them round, and they have golden pits: 'Twas there I got them, from the gaps and slits In a mossy stone, that sometimes was my seat, When all above was faint with mid-day heat.
Perhaps, thought I, Morpheus, In passing here, his owlet pinions shook; Or, it may be, ere matron Night uptook Her ebon urn, young Mercury, by stealth, Had dipt his rod in it: such garland wealth Came not by common growth. Perhaps, thought I, Morpheus, In passing here, his owlet pinions shook; Or, it may be, ere matron Night uptook Her ebon urn, young Mercury, by stealth, Had dipt his rod in it: such garland wealth Came not by common growth. Feelest not a kindred pain,To see such lovely eyes in swimming searchAfter some warm delight, that seems to perchDovelike in the dim cell lying beyondTheir upper lids? And silver white the river gleams, 5 As if Diana, in her dreams, Had dropt her silver bow Upon the meadows low. Her eloquence did breathe away the curse: She led him, like some midnight spirit nurse Of happy changes in emphatic dreams, Along a path between two little streams, Guarding his forehead, with her round elbow, From low-grown branches, and his footsteps slow From stumbling over stumps and hillocks small; Until they came to where these streamlets fall, With mingled bubblings and a gentle rush, Into a river, clear, brimful, and flush With crystal mocking of the trees and sky. Notice, too, that there are all sorts of activities, from playing sports to listening to history, and there's no hierarchy presented dividing either people or activities.
Such the sun, the moon, Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon For simple sheep; and such are daffodils With the green world they live in; and clear rills That for themselves a cooling covert make 'Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake, Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms: And such too is the grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead; All lovely tales that we have heard or read: An endless fountain of immortal drink, Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink. These things, with all their comfortings, are given To my down-sunken hours, and with thee, Sweet sister, help to stem the ebbing sea Of weary life. Sometimes A scent of violets, and blossoming limes, Loiter'd around us; then of honey cells, Made delicate from all white-flower bells; And once, above the edges of our nest, An arch face peep'd,--an Oread as I guess'd. Full in the middle of this pleasantness There stood a marble altar, with a tress Of flowers budded newly; and the dew Had taken fairy phantasies to strew Daisies upon the sacred sward last eve, And so the dawned light in pomp receive. Nutt, 1888 Drama The Plays of Oscar Wilde J.
Now that he has laid out his beliefs about beauty he is ready to enter into the main theme of his narrative. When arrows flyThrough the thick branches, poor ring-doves sleek forthTheir timid necks and tremble; so these bothLeant to each other trembling, and sat soWaiting for some destruction--when lo,Foot-feather'd Mercury appear'd sublimeBeyond the tall tree tops; and in less timeThan shoots the slanted hail-storm, down he droptTowards the ground; but rested not, nor stoptOne moment from his home: only the swardHe with his wand light touch'd, and heavenwardSwifter than sight was gone--even beforeThe teeming earth a sudden witness boreOf his swift magic. Dark regions are around it, where the tombsOf buried griefs the spirit sees, but scarceOne hour doth linger weeping, for the pierceOf new-born woe it feels more inly smart:And in these regions many a venom'd dartAt random flies; they are the proper homeOf every ill: the man is yet to comeWho hath not journeyed in this native hell. His father, William Wilde, was a surgeon, and his mother, Jane Francesca Wilde, published poetry under the name Speranza. They are similar in their elaborate complications and grand landscapes. The hero is tormented by pangs of conscience, believing that he is betraying Diana, but it turns out that temptress of Endymion turned the goddess herself, set heart on experience the earthborn young man who was able to inspire her with love.
In this ideal atmosphere, all the shepherds, their priest, and their king, Endymion, come to celebrate the god Pan and thank him for protecting their sheep. I'll kneel to Vesta, for a flame of fire;And to god Phoebus, for a golden lyre;To Empress Dian, for a hunting spear;To Vesper, for a taper silver-clear,That I may see thy beauty through the night;To Flora, and a nightingale shall lightTame on thy finger; to the River-gods,And they shall bring thee taper fishing-rodsOf gold, and lines of Naiads' long bright tress. I saw parch'd Abyssinia rouse and sing To the silver cymbals' ring! Now while the silent workings of the dawn Were busiest, into that self-same lawn All suddenly, with joyful cries, there sped A troop of little children garlanded; Who gathering round the altar, seemed to pry Earnestly round as wishing to espy Some folk of holiday: nor had they waited For many moments, ere their ears were sated With a faint breath of music, which evn then Filld out its voice, and died away again. Some of Keats's friends and admirers, like the poet , believed that the stress of this hostile reaction had a bad effect on Keats's mind, and partly caused his early death from at the age of 25. Have not rains Green'd over April's lap? Even while they brought the burden to a close, A shout from the whole multitude arose, That lingered in the air like dying rolls Of abrupt thunder, when Ionian shoals Of dolphins bob their noses through the brine. And now, as deep into the wood as we Might mark a lynx's eye, there glimmered light Fair faces and a rush of garments white, Plainer and plainer shewing, till at last Into the widest alley they all past, Making directly for the woodland altar. But, starting with that famous opening, Keats clues the reader into the fact that the poem is about a lot more than that.
Why pierce high-fronted honour to the quick For nothing but a dream? Dost thou not knowIts mistress' lips? There anguish does not sting; nor pleasure pall:Woe-hurricanes beat ever at the gate,Yet all is still within and desolate. She gave her fair hands to him, and behold,Before three swiftest kisses he had told,They vanish'd far away! He who diedFor soaring too audacious in the sun,Where that same treacherous wax began to run,Felt not more tongue-tied than Endymion. The world is made lovely, liveable, and worthwhile because of the beauty that inhabits it. His aged head, crowned with beechen wreath, Seem'd like a poll of ivy in the teeth Of winter hoar. Many upon thy death have ditties made;And many, even now, their foreheads shadeWith cypress, on a day of sacrifice.
Is there nought for me,Upon the bourne of bliss, but misery? Ye milder powers,Am I not cruelly wrong'd? In the mythological account of the life of Endymion, he asks for, and is given eternal life. Aye, so delicious is the unsating food, That men, who might have towerd in the van Of all the congregated world, to fan And winnow from the coming step of time All chaff of custom, wipe away all slime Left by men-slugs and human serpentry, Have been content to let occasion die, Whilst they did sleep in loves elysium. The breeze is sentCareful and soft, that not a leaf may fallBefore the serene father of them allBows down his summer head below the west. Paths there were many, Winding through palmy fern, and rushes fenny, And ivy banks; all leading pleasantly To a wide lawn, whence one could only see Stems thronging all around between the swell Of turf and slanting branches: who could tell The freshness of the space of heaven above, Edgd round with dark tree tops? Together they bare 50 daughters. Do the brooksUtter a gorgon voice? O drooping souls, whose destinies Are fraught with fear and pain, Ye shall be loved again! Full in the middle of this pleasantness There stood a marble altar, with a tress Of flowers budded newly; and the dew Had taken fairy phantasies to strew Daisies upon the sacred sward last eve, And so the dawned light in pomp receive. Introduction to Keats and 'Endymion' 'A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
From hero requires not only physical strength. Haply, thou hast seen Her naked limbs among the alders green; And that, alas! The lady's heart beat quick, and he could seeHer gentle bosom heave tumultuously. No, I will once more raise My voice upon the mountain-heights; once more Make my horn parley from their foreheads hoar: Again my trooping hounds their tongues shall loll Around the breathed boar: again I'll poll The fair-grown yew tree, for a chosen bow: And, when the pleasant sun is getting low, Again I'll linger in a sloping mead To hear the speckled thrushes, and see feed Our idle sheep. They stung the feather'd horse: with fierce alarmHe flapp'd towards the sound. O thou, for whose soul-soothing quiet, turtles Passion their voices cooingly mong myrtles, What time thou wanderest at eventide Through sunny meadows, that outskirt the side Of thine enmossed realms: O thou, to whom Broad leaved fig trees even now foredoom Their ripend fruitage; yellow girted bees Their golden honeycombs; our village leas Their fairest-blossomd beans and poppied corn; The chuckling linnet its five young unborn, To sing for thee; low creeping strawberries Their summer coolness; pent up butterflies Their freckled wings; yea, the fresh budding year All its completionsbe quickly near, By every wind that nods the mountain pine, O forester divine! There is a paly flame of hope that plays Whereer I look: but yet, Ill say tis naught And here I bid it die.
Are not our wide plains Speckled with countless fleeces? Nor did speed hinder converse soft and strange--Eternal oaths and vows they interchange,In such wise, in such temper, so aloofUp in the winds, beneath a starry roof,So witless of their doom, that verily'Tis well nigh past man's search their hearts to see;Whether they wept, or laugh'd, or griev'd, or toy'd--Most like with joy gone mad, with sorrow cloy'd. In that which becks Our ready minds to fellowship divine, A fellowship with essence; till we shine, Full alchemiz'd, and free of space. If an innocent bird Before my heedless footsteps stirrd, and stirrd In little journeys, I beheld in it A disguisd demon, missioned to knit My soul with under darkness; to entice My stumblings down some monstrous precipice: Therefore I eager followed, and did curse The disappointment. O thou wouldst joy to live in such a place;Dusk for our loves, yet light enough to graceThose gentle limbs on mossy bed reclin'd:For by one step the blue sky shouldst thou find,And by another, in deep dell below,See, through the trees, a little river goAll in its mid-day gold and glimmering. How a ring-dove Let fall a sprig of yew tree in his path; And how he died: and then, that love doth scathe, The gentle heart, as northern blasts do roses; And then the ballad of his sad life closes With sighs, and an alas! By this the sun is setting; we may chance Meet some of our near-dwellers with my car. How sickening, how dark the dreadful leisure Of weary days, made deeper exquisite, By a fore-knowledge of unslumbrous night!.