Which through the web of being blindly wove By man and beast and earth and air and sea, Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of The fire for which all thirst; now beams on me, Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.
The breath whose might I have invoked in song Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven, Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng Whose sails were never to the tempest given; The massy earth and spherèd skies are riven! I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar;
Whilst, burning through the inmost veil of Heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star,
Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.
[1784-1859]
JENNY KISS'D ME
JENNY kiss'd me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in!
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,
Say that health and wealth have miss'd me, Say I'm growing old, but add,
ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw-within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich and like a lily in bloom- An angel, writing in a book of gold. Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, (N) HC XL:
And to the presence in the room he said,
'What writest thou?'-The vision raised its head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, 'The names of those who love the Lord.'
And is mine one?' said Abou. Nay, not so,' Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerly still, and said, 'I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow men.'
The angel wrote and vanished. The next night It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blessed, And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.
JOHN KEATS [1795-1821]
THE REALM OF FANCY
EVER let the Fancy roam! Pleasure never is at home:
At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth, Like to bubbles when rain pelteth;
Then let wingéd Fancy wander
Through the thought still spread beyond her:
Open wide the mind's cage-door,
She'll dart forth, and cloudward soar.
O sweet Fancy! let her loose; Summer's joys are spoilt by use, And the enjoying of the Spring Fades as does its blossoming: Autumn's red-lipp'd fruitage too, Blushing through the mist and dew, Cloys with tasting: What do then? Sit thee by the ingle, when The sear faggot blazes bright, Spirit of a winter's night;
When the soundless earth is muffled,
And the cakéd snow is shuffled
From the ploughboy's heavy shoon; When the Night doth meet the Noon In a dark conspiracy
To banish Even from her sky.
-Sit thee there, and send abroad, With a mind self-overaw'd
Fancy, high-commission'd:-send her! She has vassals to attend her; She will bring, in spite of frost, Beauties that the earth hath lost; She will bring thee, all together, All delights of summer weather; All the buds and bells of May From dewy sward or thorny spray; All the heapéd Autumn's wealth, With a still, mysterious stealth: She will mix these pleasures up Like three fit wines in a cup,
And thou shalt quaff it:-thou shalt hear Distant harvest-carols clear;
Rustle of the reapéd corn;
Sweet birds antheming the morn:
And, in the same moment-hark!
'Tis the early April lark,
Or the rooks, with busy caw, Foraging for sticks and straw. Thou shalt, at one glance, behold The daisy and the marigold; White-plumed lilies, and the first Hedge-grown primrose that hath burst; Shaded hyacinth, alway
Sapphire queen of the mid-May; And every leaf, and every flower Pearléd with the self-same shower. Thou shalt see the field-mouse peep Meagre from its celléd sleep; And the snake all winter-thin Cast on sunny bank its skin; Freckled nest-eggs thou shalt see Hatching in the hawthorn-tree,
When the hen-bird's wing doth rest Quiet on her mossy nest;
Then the hurry and alarm
When the bee-hive casts its swarm; Acorns ripe down-pattering, While the autumn breezes sing.
Oh, sweet Fancy! let her loose; Everything is spoilt by use:
Where's the cheek that doth not fade, Too much gazed at? Where's the maid Whose lip mature is ever new? Where's the eye, however blue, Doth not weary? Where's the face One would meet in every place? Where's the voice, however soft, One would hear so very oft?
At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth Like to bubbles when rain pelteth. Let then wingéd Fancy find Thee a mistress to thy mind: Dulcet-eyed as Ceres' daughter, Ere the God of Torment taught her How to frown and how to chide; With a waist and with a side White as Hebe's, when her zone Slipt its golden clasp, and down Fell her kirtle to her feet, While she held the goblet sweet,
And Jove grew languid.-Break the mesh
Of the Fancy's silken leash;
Quickly break her prison-string, And such joys as these she'll bring: -Let the wingéd Fancy roam! Pleasure never is at home.
BARDS of Passion and of Mirth
Ye have left your souls on earth!
Have ye souls in heaven too, Double-lived in regions new?
-Yes, and those of heaven commune With the spheres of sun and moon; With the noise of fountains wonderous And the parle of voices thunderous; With the whisper of heaven's trees And one another, in soft ease Seated on Elysian lawns Browsed by none but Dian's fawns; Underneath large blue-bells tented, Where the daisies are rose-scented, And the rose herself has got Perfume which on earth is not; Where the nightingale doth sing Not a senseless, trancéd thing, But divine melodious truth; Philosophic numbers smooth; Tales and golden histories Of heaven and its mysteries.
Thus ye live on high, and then On the earth ye live again; And the souls ye left behind you Teach us, here, the way to find you, Where your other souls are joying, Never slumber'd, never cloying. Here, your earth-born souls still speak To mortals, of their little week; Of their sorrows and delights; Of their passions and their spites; Of their glory and their shame;
What doth strengthen and what maim:- Thus ye teach us, every day, Wisdom, though fled far away.
Bards of Passion and of Mirth Ye have left your souls on earth! Ye have souls in heaven too, Double-lived in regions new!
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