John Keats (1795–1821)

Ode to a Nightingale 1819

I

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains

My sense, as though of hemlock° I had drunk, a poison

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, wood nymph

In some melodious plot

Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,

Singest of summer in full-throated ease. 10

II

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, goddess of flowers

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

III

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, 25

Where youth grows pale, and specter-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. 30

IV

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,

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. 40

V

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,

Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,

But, in embalmèd° darkness, guess each sweet perfumed

Wherewith the seasonable month endows

The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; 45

What 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. 50

VI

Darkling° I listen; and for many a time in the dark

I have been half in love with easeful Death,

Called 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

VII

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 selfsame 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 oft-times hath

Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam

Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. 70

VIII

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?