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Author: Keats, John
Title: Ode On Indolence
Publisher: Eris Etext Project
Tag(s): urn; indolence; figures; english literature
Contributor(s): Eric Lease Morgan (Infomotions, Inc.)
Versions: original; local mirror; HTML (this file); printable
Services: find in a library; evaluate using concordance
Rights: GNU General Public License
Size: 495 words (really short) Grade range: 7-8 (grade school) Readability score: 74 (easy)
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1816 ODE ON INDOLENCE by John Keats 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 masque? 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 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, Though 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. IV. 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. V. 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! 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! THE END .