Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! She stood in tears amid the alien corn; Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam 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 fam'd 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: 70 75 Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; 16 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, Forever wilt thou love, and she be fair! 20 Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Forever piping songs forever new; 25 All breathing human passion far above, To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, 31 35 40 To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; 5 But divine melodious truth; 415 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! LINES ON THE MERMAID TAVERN Souls of Poets dead and gone, 20 25 30 35 40 5 ΤΟ ODE Bards of Passion and of Mirth, Before high pilèd books, in charact❜ry, 5 Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; And when I feel, fair creature of an hour! That I shall never look upon thee more, Never have relish in the faery power Of unreflecting love! — then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink. BRIGHT STAR! IO ENDYMION FROM BOOK I A thing of beauty is a joy forever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. 5 ΙΟ Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing 15 20 540 "This river does not see the naked sky, Till it begins to progress silverly Around the western border of the wood, Whence, from a certain spot, its winding flood Seems at the distance like a crescent moon: And in that nook, the very pride of June, Had I been us'd to pass my weary eyes; The rather for the sun unwilling leaves So dear a picture of his sovereign power, And I could witness his most kingly hour, When he doth tighten up the golden reins, And paces leisurely down amber plains His snorting four. Now when his chariot last Its beams against the zodiac-lion cast, There blossom'd suddenly a magic bed Of sacred ditamy, and poppies red: 545 550 555 |