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Ode On A Grecian Urn Analysis



Author: poem of John Keats Type: poem Views: 40

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Thou 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! Fair attitude! with brede

    Of marble men and maidens overwrought,

With forest branches and the trodden weed;

    Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought

As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!

    When old age shall this generation waste,

        Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe

Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,

    "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,--that is all

        Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."






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||| Analysis | Critique | Overview Below |||

.: :.

It is SO important to remebmer to go with the momentum and not look back at what you did/didn't do in the past. I can get really stuck on those past points and it weighs me down. This really helps me. I love my music and when I can get over the whole I'm too tired/bored/exhausted whatever, and just crank up the volume for a few songs, it brightens up my whole day. I think my favorite song at present, is C.C. Catch's Hollywood Nights. Thanks for sharing this series! I've been a lurker, reading every day and not quite commenting (since it's a pain to do so from my pesky cellphone), but anyway, great post and thanks so much for sharing! x x

| Posted on 2013-11-18 | by a guest


.: :.

Comment's author: amax03/31/07 09:29:00 AM 千萬不要墮落 x x x 不過又想到 如果沒有把到妹 x 或許對妹來說 好人才是真正的墮落 x x 其實妹最愛的 x 不輕易對人好 卻只對她一個人好 x x 嘿嘿... 最後笑的人才是真笑 還是實際一點 x x x

| Posted on 2013-11-14 | by a guest


.: :.

Hi, I read your stitching blog and saw today's post about your mom's storke. I clicked on your profile and found this blog. Just want to let you know that your mom is on my prayer list and I will be praying for her. Also praying for you that you will be able to juggle everything and still have some time to rest and refresh yourself.

| Posted on 2013-11-12 | by a guest


.: :.

Great tips. I especially agree with the ADD (I'm hobirrle with that!). I've found deadlines have helped greatly because having an end date keeps me focused and reminds me to write everyday.

| Posted on 2013-11-12 | by a guest


.: :.

If you need an analysis of this, you should be examined - by a pathologist.

| Posted on 2010-03-09 | by a guest


.: :.

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.


| Posted on 2007-08-24 | by a guest


.: :.

O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,--that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."




| Posted on 2007-04-04 | by a guest




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