I told her all my heart, Trembling,cold,in ghastly fears. Ah!she did depart! Soon after she was gone from me, A traveller came by, Silently,invisibly: He took her with a sigh. 9.Ah!Sunflower by William Blake Ah!sunflower,weary of time, Who countest the steps of the sun, Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveller's journey is done; Where the youth pined away with desire, And the pale virgin shrouded in snow, Arise from their graves and aspire; Where my sunflower wishes to go. 10.The Tyger by William Blake Tyger!Tyger!burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand,dare sieze the fire? And what shoulder,&what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand?&what dread feet?
I told her all my heart, Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears. Ah! she did depart! Soon after she was gone from me, A traveller came by, Silently, invisibly: He took her with a sigh. 9. Ah! Sunflower by William Blake Ah! sunflower, weary of time, Who countest the steps of the sun, Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveller’s journey is done; Where the youth pined away with desire, And the pale virgin shrouded in snow, Arise from their graves and aspire; Where my sunflower wishes to go. 10. The Tyger by William Blake Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare sieze the fire? And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer?what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil?what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears, And water'd heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee? Tyger!Tyger!burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? 1.On First Looking into Chapman's Homer by John Keats Much have I traveled in the realms of gold And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne; Yet never did I breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific-and all his men Looked at each other with a wild surmise- Silent,upon a peak in Darien. 2.The Human Seasons by John Keats Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; There are four seasons in the mind of man:
What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears, And water'd heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee? Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? 1.On First Looking into Chapman's Homer by John Keats Much have I traveled in the realms of gold And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne; Yet never did I breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific—and all his men Looked at each other with a wild surmise— Silent, upon a peak in Darien. 2. The Human Seasons by John Keats Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; There are four seasons in the mind of man:
He has his lusty Spring,when fancy clear Takes in all beauty with an easy span: He has his Summer,when luxuriously Spring's honeyed cud of youthful thought he loves To ruminate,and by such dreaming high Is nearest unto Heaven:quiet coves His soul has in its Autumn,when his wings He furleth close;contented so to look On mists in idleness-to let fair things Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook:- He has his Winter too of pale misfeature, Or else he would forego his mortal nature. 3.To a Friend who sent me some Roses by John Keats As late I rambled in the happy fields, What time the sky-lark shakes the tremulous dew From his lush clover covert;-when anew Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields: I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields, A fresh-blown musk-rose;'twas the first that threw Its sweets upon the summer:graceful it grew As is the wand that queen Titania wields. And,as I feasted on its fragrancy, I thought the garden-rose it far excell'd: But when,O Wells!thy roses came to me My sense with their deliciousness was spell'd: Soft voices had they,that with tender plea Whisper'd of peace,and truth,and friendliness unquell'd. 4.Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear Takes in all beauty with an easy span: He has his Summer, when luxuriously Spring's honeyed cud of youthful thought he loves To ruminate, and by such dreaming high Is nearest unto Heaven: quiet coves His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings He furleth close; contented so to look On mists in idleness—to let fair things Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook:— He has his Winter too of pale misfeature, Or else he would forego his mortal nature. 3. To a Friend who sent me some Roses by John Keats As late I rambled in the happy fields, What time the sky-lark shakes the tremulous dew From his lush clover covert;—when anew Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields: I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields, A fresh-blown musk-rose; 'twas the first that threw Its sweets upon the summer: graceful it grew As is the wand that queen Titania wields. And, as I feasted on its fragrancy, I thought the garden-rose it far excell'd: But when, O Wells! thy roses came to me My sense with their deliciousness was spell'd: Soft voices had they, that with tender plea Whisper'd of peace, and truth, and friendliness unquell'd. 4. Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats 1
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 thine 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. 2. O,for a draught of vintage!that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance,and Provencal song,and sunburnt 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: 3. 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 to-morrow. 4. 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
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 thine 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. 2. O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt 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: 3. 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 to-morrow. 4. 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, 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. 5. 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 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. 6. 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 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. 1. 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 Charm'd magic casements,opening on the foam Of perilous seas,in faery lands forlorn
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. 5. 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 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. 6. 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 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. 7. 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 Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn