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Ode To A Nightingale Analysis



Author: Poetry of John Keats Type: Poetry Views: 5945





My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains

My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,

Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains

One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:

'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,

But being too happy in thy happiness,---

That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,

In some melodious plot

Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,

Singest of summer in full-throated ease.



O for a draught of vintage, that hath been

Cooled a long age in the deep-delved earth,

Tasting of Flora and the country green,

Dance, and Provencal song, and sun-burnt mirth!

O for a beaker full of the warm South,

Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,

With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,

And purple-stained mouth;

That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,

And with thee fade away into the forest dim:



Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget

What thou among the leaves hast never known,

The weariness, the fever, and the fret

Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;

Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,

Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;

Where but to think is to be full of sorrow

And leaden-eyed despairs;

Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,

Or new love pine at them beyond tomorrow.



Away! away! for I will fly to thee,

Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,

But on the viewless wings of Poesy,

Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:

Already with thee! tender is the night,

And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,

Clustered around by all her starry fays;

But here there is no light,

Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown

Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.



I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,

Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,

But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet

Wherewith the seasonable month endows

The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;

White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;

Fast-fading violets covered up in leaves;

And mid-May's eldest child,

The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,

The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.



Darkling I listen; and for many a time

I have been half in love with easeful Death,

Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme,

To take into the air my quiet breath;

Now more than ever seems it rich to die,

To cease upon the midnight with no pain,

While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad

In such an ecstasy!

Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain---

To thy high requiem become a sod



Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!

No hungry generations tread thee down;

The voice I hear this passing night was heard

In ancient days by emperor and clown:

Perhaps the self-same song that found a path

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,

She stood in tears amid the alien corn;

The same that oft-times hath

Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam

Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.



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 famed 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:

Was it a vision, or a waking dream?

Fled is that music:---do I wake or sleep?










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

.: :.

the poem i found is so deeply portrayed .wonderful expressions by the poet and the beauty of nature can truly b seen in this poem .

| Posted on 2011-12-31 | by a guest


.: :.

the poem i found is so deeply portrayed .wonderful expressions by the poet and the beauty of nature can truly b seen in this poem .

| Posted on 2011-12-31 | by a guest


.: :.

ode to a nightingale is a poem which is very much liked by the great sage J Krishnamurty. No wonder he liked it because the poem is a revelation of so many deep psychological truths, it\'s an amazing piece of art which brood upon the inextricable pleasure and pain. \"My heart aches and the drowsy numbness pains....\"...the heart is aching too much with pleasure!

| Posted on 2010-10-21 | by a guest


.: :.

actuly he wants to move away from this mortal world (real world) to the nightingale\'s world(imaginary world) wich he thinkz is immortal world. for that he tries 3 ways 1.opiate himself 2.wine 3.baccus wine .
but atlast he thinks that its a rich time to die being in this ecstesy place.... but coul\'nt he himself does\'nt know wheather he\'s alive or in consiousness or in a dream....

| Posted on 2010-08-17 | by a guest


.: :.

The 2nd and the 4th comment is very impressive and true. Keats is actually escaping himself from the bitterness of this world and wanting to go to the world of nightingale by using the instruments of wine and other drugs which help him to lose his senses which ask him to think about the death, sorrowfulness, disease and other pains of life.
The world of imagination is so reliable and immortal so Keats wanted to go there.

| Posted on 2010-02-02 | by a guest


.: :.

Sounds like "Junkets" has read Marlowe`s translation of Ovid`s "Amores". Ovid`s reference to his lack of sexual vitality runs something like [from memory] "Like I had of cold hemlock drunk/ It mocked me/ hung its head and sunk"

| Posted on 2009-12-18 | by a guest


.: :.

the poem does not talk about a girl wanting to escape her life, but rather it speaks about Keats wanting to attain the same blissful state of mind as the nightingale. Throughtut the poem he attempts to use several methods to acheieve this, but they are all in vain. In the end, Keats realizes that everything human is temporry while evrything that basks in the essence of nature lasts forever. He also becomes unable to tell what is a vision and what is reality.

| Posted on 2009-11-29 | by a guest


.: :.

this poem very fantastic.it talks a bout a girl want to escape her life...

| Posted on 2009-05-15 | by a guest


.: :.

Keats, one of the most famous writers of the Romantic Age died at the age of 25 of consumption.
'Ode to a Nightingale' gives an insight to the fear and the concerns that plague Keats. As a Romantic writer, nature influences Keats in a way that allows him to immerse himself in its evergreen beauty.
One can hear Keats' desperation as he yearns for the world of the nightingale, a world devoid of the 'weariness' of humankind.
With the recent death of his brother Tom and the probability that he would also die the same painful death, Keats' want to escape into the blissful world of the nightingale is not surprising.
The Nightingale represents nature, happiness, song and merriment. Keats, using his imagination and fancy, manages to indulge his senses in the very sensual creation of the nightingale's life. Every single sense is invigorated the atmosphere- the trees, the moss, the song of birds, etc.
However, even though he leaves his worries behind for a few minutes, those worries resurface, and he is forced to think of the misery of human kind.
He realizes that everything human is temporary, from beauty to happiness and everything that is from nature lasts forever, like the song of the nightingale- which has lifted people across the ages from despair.
z

| Posted on 2009-04-12 | by a guest


.: Summer night :.

Crescent Queen plus the winged dryad flows in summer eve,
Faded blossums jewled by dew admist the broad plains leave.
Murmered whispers by quiet breath stringing purple beads,

| Posted on 2008-04-10 | by a guest


.: :.

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:

| Posted on 2008-02-17 | by a guest


.: :.

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:

| Posted on 2008-02-17 | by a guest




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