| 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, |
5 |
| But being too happy in thine happiness, |
|
| That thou, light-wingèd Dryad of the trees, |
|
| In some melodious plot |
|
| Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, |
|
| Singest of summer in full-throated ease. |
10 |
| |
| O for a draught of vintage! that hath been |
|
| Cool'd a long age in the deep-delvèd earth, |
|
| Tasting of Flora and the country-green, |
|
| Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth! |
|
| O for a beaker full of the warm South! |
15 |
| Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, |
|
| With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, |
|
| And purple-stainèd mouth; |
|
| That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, |
|
| And with thee fade away into the forest dim: |
20 |
| |
| 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 grey hairs, |
25 |
| 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 to-morrow. |
30 |
| |
| 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, |
35 |
| And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, |
|
| Cluster'd 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. |
40 |
| |
| I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, |
|
| Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, |
|
| But, in embalmèd darkness, guess each sweet |
|
| Wherewith the seasonable month endows |
|
| The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; |
45 |
| White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; |
|
| Fast-fading violets cover'd 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. |
50 |
| |
| Darkling I listen; and, for many a time |
|
| I have been half in love with easeful Death, |
|
| Call'd him soft names in many a musèd rhyme, |
|
| To take into the air my quiet breath; |
|
| Now more than ever seems it rich to die, |
55 |
| 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. |
60 |
| |
| 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 |
65 |
| Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, |
|
| She stood in tears amid the alien corn; |
|
| The same that ofttimes hath |
|
| Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam |
|
| Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. |
70 |
| |
| 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 |
75 |
| 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? |
80 |