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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421003" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ode To A Nightingale</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains<br> My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,<br>Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains<br> One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:<br>'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,<br> But being too happy in thy happiness,---<br> That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,<br> In some melodious plot<br> Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,<br> Singest of summer in full-throated ease.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O for a draught of vintage, that hath been<br> Cooled a long age in the deep-delved earth,<br>Tasting of Flora and the country green,<br> Dance, and Provencal song, and sun-burnt mirth!<br>O for a beaker full of the warm South,<br> Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,<br> With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,<br> And purple-stained mouth;<br> That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,<br> And with thee fade away into the forest dim:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget<br> What thou among the leaves hast never known,<br>The weariness, the fever, and the fret<br> Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;<br>Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,<br> Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;<br> Where but to think is to be full of sorrow<br> And leaden-eyed despairs;<br> Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,<br> Or new love pine at them beyond tomorrow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Away! away! for I will fly to thee,<br> Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,<br>But on the viewless wings of Poesy,<br> Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:<br>Already with thee! tender is the night,<br> And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,<br> Clustered around by all her starry fays;<br> But here there is no light,<br> Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown<br> Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,<br> Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,<br>But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet<br> Wherewith the seasonable month endows<br>The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;<br> White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;<br> Fast-fading violets covered up in leaves;<br> And mid-May's eldest child,<br> The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,<br> The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Darkling I listen; and for many a time<br> I have been half in love with easeful Death,<br>Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme,<br> To take into the air my quiet breath;<br>Now more than ever seems it rich to die,<br> To cease upon the midnight with no pain,<br> While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad<br> In such an ecstasy!<br> Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain---<br> To thy high requiem become a sod</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!<br> No hungry generations tread thee down;<br>The voice I hear this passing night was heard<br> In ancient days by emperor and clown:<br>Perhaps the self-same song that found a path<br> Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,<br> She stood in tears amid the alien corn;<br> The same that oft-times hath<br> Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam<br> Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Forlorn! the very word is like a bell<br> To toll me back from thee to my sole self!<br>Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well<br> As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.<br>Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades<br> Past the near meadows, over the still stream,<br> Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep<br> In the next valley-glades:<br> Was it a vision, or a waking dream?<br> Fled is that music:---do I wake or sleep?</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=421003" data-title="Ode To A Nightingale de John Keats" data-description="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 thy happ..."></div>
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