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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420974" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Hyperion. Book III</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus in altemate uproar and sad peace,<br>Amazed were those Titans utterly.<br>O leave them, Muse! O leave them to their woes;<br>For thou art weak to sing such tumults dire:<br>A solitary sorrow best befits<br>Thy lips, and antheming a lonely grief.<br>Leave them, O Muse! for thou anon wilt find<br>Many a fallen old Divinity<br>Wandering in vain about bewildered shores.<br>Meantime touch piously the Delphic harp,<br>And not a wind of heaven but will breathe<br>In aid soft warble from the Dorian flute;<br>For lo! 'tis for the Father of all verse.<br>Flush everything that hath a vermeil hue,<br>Let the rose glow intense and warm the air,<br>And let the clouds of even and of morn<br>Float in voluptuous fleeces o'er the hills;<br>Let the red wine within the goblet boil,<br>Cold as a bubbling well; let faint-lipp'd shells,<br>On sands, or in great deeps, vermilion turn<br>Through all their labyrinths; and let the maid<br>Blush keenly, as with some warm kiss surpris'd.<br>Chief isle of the embowered Cyclades,<br>Rejoice, O Delos, with thine olives green,<br>And poplars, and lawn-shading palms, and beech,<br>In which the Zephyr breathes the loudest song,<br>And hazels thick, dark-stemm'd beneath the shade:<br>Apollo is once more the golden theme!<br>Where was he, when the Giant of the sun<br>Stood bright, amid the sorrow of his peers?<br>Together had he left his mother fair<br>And his twin-sister sleeping in their bower,<br>And in the morning twilight wandered forth<br>Beside the osiers of a rivulet,<br>Full ankle-deep in lilies of the vale.<br>The nightingale had ceas'd, and a few stars<br>Were lingering in the heavens, while the thrush<br>Began calm-throated. Throughout all the isle<br>There was no covert, no retired cave,<br>Unhaunted by the murmurous noise of waves,<br>Though scarcely heard in many a green recess.<br>He listen'd, and he wept, and his bright tears<br>Went trickling down the golden bow he held.<br>Thus with half-shut suffused eyes he stood,<br>While from beneath some cumbrous boughs hard by<br>With solemn step an awful Goddess came,<br>And there was purport in her looks for him,<br>Which he with eager guess began to read<br>Perplex'd, the while melodiously he said:<br>'How cam'st thou over the unfooted sea?<br>Or hath that antique mien and robed form<br>Mov'd in these vales invisible till now?<br>Sure I have heard those vestments sweeping o'er<br>The fallen leaves, when I have sat alone<br>In cool mid-forest. Surely I have traced<br>The rustle of those ample skirts about<br>These grassy solitudes, and seen the flowers<br>Lift up their heads, as still the whisper pass'd.<br>Goddess! I have beheld those eyes before,<br>And their eternal calm, and all that face,<br>Or I have dream'd.'—-'Yes,' said the supreme shape,<br>'Thou hast dream'd of me; and awaking up<br>Didst find a lyre all golden by thy side,<br>Whose strings touch'd by thy fingers, all the vast<br>Unwearied ear of the whole universe<br>Listen'd in pain and pleasure at the birth<br>Of such new tuneful wonder. Is't not strange<br>That thou shouldst weep, so gifted? Tell me, youth,<br>What sorrow thou canst feel; for I am sad<br>When thou dost shed a tear: explain thy griefs<br>To one who in this lonely isle hath been<br>The watcher of thy sleep and hours of life,<br>From the young day when first thy infant hand<br>Pluck'd witless the weak flowers, till thine arm<br>Could bend that bow heroic to all times.<br>Show thy heart's secret to an ancient Power<br>Who hath forsaken old and sacred thrones<br>For prophecies of thee, and for the sake<br>Of loveliness new born.'—-Apollo then,<br>With sudden scrutiny and gloomless eyes,<br>Thus answer'd, while his white melodious throat<br>Throbb'd with the syllables.—-'Mnemosyne!<br>Thy name is on my tongue, I know not how;<br>Why should I tell thee what thou so well seest?<br>Why should I strive to show what from thy lips<br>Would come no mystery? For me, dark, dark,<br>And painful vile oblivion seals my eyes:<br>I strive to search wherefore I am so sad,<br>Until a melancholy numbs my limbs;<br>And then upon the grass I sit, and moan,<br>Like one who once had wings.—-O why should I<br>Feel curs'd and thwarted, when the liegeless air<br>Yields to my step aspirant? why should I<br>Spurn the green turf as hateful to my feet?<br>Goddess benign, point forth some unknown thing:<br>Are there not other regions than this isle?<br>What are the stars? There is the sun, the sun!<br>And the most patient brilliance of the moon!<br>And stars by thousands! Point me out the way<br>To any one particular beauteous star,<br>And I will flit into it with my lyre,<br>And make its silvery splendor pant with bliss.<br>I have heard the cloudy thunder: Where is power?<br>Whose hand, whose essence, what divinity<br>Makes this alarum in the elements,<br>While I here idle listen on the shores<br>In fearless yet in aching ignorance?<br>O tell me, lonely Goddess, by thy harp,<br>That waileth every morn and eventide,<br>Tell me why thus I rave about these groves!<br>Mute thou remainest—-Mute! yet I can read<br>A wondrous lesson in thy silent face:<br>Knowledge enormous makes a God of me.<br>Names, deeds, gray legends, dire events, rebellions,<br>Majesties, sovran voices, agonies,<br>Creations and destroyings, all at once<br>Pour into the wide hollows of my brain,<br>And deify me, as if some blithe wine<br>Or bright elixir peerless I had drunk,<br>And so become immortal.'—-Thus the God,<br>While his enkindled eyes, with level glance<br>Beneath his white soft temples, steadfast kept<br>Trembling with light upon Mnemosyne.<br>Soon wild commotions shook him, and made flush<br>All the immortal fairness of his limbs;<br>Most like the struggle at the gate of death;<br>Or liker still to one who should take leave<br>Of pale immortal death, and with a pang<br>As hot as death's is chill, with fierce convulse<br>Die into life: so young Apollo anguish'd:<br>His very hair, his golden tresses famed,<br>Kept undulation round his eager neck.<br>During the pain Mnemosyne upheld<br>Her arms as one who prophesied. At length<br>Apollo shriek'd;—-and lo! from all his limbs<br>Celestial * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Keats">John Keats</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420974" data-title="Hyperion. Book III de John Keats" data-description="Thus in altemate uproar and sad peace,
Amazed were those Titans utterly.
O leave them, Muse! O leave them to their woes;
For thou art weak to sing such tumults dire:
A solitary sorrow best befits
Thy lips, and antheming a lonely grief.
Leave them,..."></div>
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