‘They toil not, neither do they spin.’
|
| I |
| One morn before me were three figures
seen, |
| With bowed
necks, and joined hands, side-faced ; |
| And one behind the other stepp’d
serene, |
| In placid
sandals, and in white robes graced ; |
| They pass’d, like figures on a marble
urn, |
| When shifted
round to see the other side ; |
|
They came again ; as when the urn once more |
| Is shifted round, the first seen shades
return ; |
| And they were
strange to me, as may betide |
With vases, to one deep in Phidian lore.
|
| II |
| How is it, Shadows ! that I knew ye not
? |
| How came ye
muffled in so hush a mask ? |
| Was it a silent deep-disguised plot |
| To steal away,
and leave without a task |
| My idle days ? Ripe was the drowsy hour
; |
| The blissful
cloud of summer-indolence |
|
Benumb’d my eyes ; my pulse grew less and less ; |
| Pain had no sting, and pleasure’s
wreath no flower : |
| O, why did ye
not melt, and leave my sense |
Unhaunted quite of all but—nothingness ?
|
| III |
| A third time pass’d they by, and,
passing, turn’d |
| Each one the
face a moment whiles to me ; |
| Then faded, and to follow them I burn’d |
| And ach’d for
wings because I knew the three ; |
| The first was a fair Maid, and Love her
name ; |
| The second was
Ambition, pale of cheek, |
|
And ever watchful with fatigued eye ; |
| The last, whom I love more, the more of
blame |
| Is heap’d upon
her, maiden most unmeek,— |
I knew to be my demon Poesy.
|
| IV |
| They faded, and, forsooth ! I wanted
wings : |
| O folly ! What
is love ! and where is it ? |
| And for that poor Ambition ! it springs |
| From a man’s
little heart’s short fever-fit ; |
| For Poesy !—no,—she has not a joy,— |
| At least for
me,—so sweet as drowsy noons, |
|
And evenings steep’d in honied indolence ; |
| O, for an age so shelter’d from annoy, |
| That I may
never know how change the moons, |
Or hear the voice of busy common-sense !
|
| V |
| And once more came they by ;— alas !
wherefore ? |
| My sleep had
been embroider'd with dim dreams ; |
| My soul had been a lawn besprinkled
o'er |
| With flowers,
and stirring shades, and baffled beams : |
| The morn was clouded, but no shower
fell, |
| Tho' in her
lids hung the sweet tears of May ; |
|
The open casement press'd a new-leav'd vine , |
| Let in the
budding warmth and throstle's lay ; |
| O Shadows ! 'twas a time to bid
farewell ! |
Upon your skirts had fallen no tears of mine.
|
| VI |
| So, ye three Ghosts, adieu ! Ye cannot
raise |
| My head
cool-bedded in the flowery grass ; |
| For I would not be dieted with praise, |
| A pet-lamb in
a sentimental farce ! |
| Fade softly from my eyes, and be once
more |
| In masque-like
figures on the dreamy urn ; |
|
Farewell ! I yet have visions for the night, |
| And for the day faint visions there is
store ; |
|
Vanish, ye Phantoms ! from my idle spright, |
Into the
clouds, and never more return !
|
| John Keats
| Classic Poems |
| |
|
[ La Belle Dame Sans Merci ] [ Ode to a Nightingale ] [ Ode on a Grecian Urn ] [ Ode on Indolence ] [ Ode to Psyche ] [ Ode on Melancholy ] [ Ode to autumn ] |
