Hyperion, A Vision: Attempted Reconstruction Of The Poem (John Keats Poems)
CANTO I.Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weaveA paradise for a sect; the savage, too,From forth the loftiest fashion of ...
CANTO I.Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weaveA paradise for a sect; the savage, too,From forth the loftiest fashion of ...
1.I went out into the night of quiet stars;I looked up at the wheeling heavens, at the mysterious firmament;I thought ...
Old Father Pat! They'll tell you still with mingled love and prideOf stirring deeds that live and thrill the quiet ...
The beating of the guns grows louder.'Not long, boys, now.'My heart burns whiter, fearfuller, prouder;Hurricanes growAs guns redouble their fire.Through ...
A woman with no face walked into the light;A boy, in a brown-tree norfolk suit,Holding onWithout handsTo her seeming skirt.She ...
On the cross-beam under the old south bellthe nest of a pigeon is builded well.In summer and winter that bird ...
Suddenly there came to meThe music of a mighty seaThat on a bare and iron shoreThundered with a deeper roarThan ...
THE GREAT world stretched its arms to me and held me to its breast, They say I've song-birds in my throat, ...
What would'st thou have for easement after grief, When the rude world hath used thee with despite, And care sits at thine elbow day and night, Filching thy pleasures like a subtle thief? To me, when life besets me in such wise, 'Tis sweetest to break forth, to drop the chain, And grasp the freedom of this pleasant earth, To roam in idleness and sober mirth, Through summer airs and summer lands, and drain The comfort of wide fields unto tired eyes. By hills and waters, farms and solitudes, To wander by the day with wilful feet; Through fielded valleys wide with yellowing wheat; Along gray roads that run between deep woods, Murmurous and cool; through hallowed slopes of pine, Where the long daylight dreams, unpierced, unstirred, And only the rich-throated thrush is heard; By lonely forest brooks that froth and shine In bouldered crannies buried in the hills; By broken beeches tangled with wild vine, And long-strewn rivers murmurous with mills. In upland pastures, sown with gold, and sweet With the keen perfume of the ripening grass, Where wings of birds and filmy shadows pass, Spread thick as stars with shining marguerite: To haunt old fences overgrown with brier, Muffled in vines, and hawthorns, and wild cherries, Rank poisonous ivies, red-bunched elder-berries, And pièd blossoms to the heart's desire, Gray mullein towering into yellow bloom, Pink-tasseled milkweed, breathing dense perfume, And swarthy vervain, tipped with violet fire. To hear at eve the bleating of far flocks, The mud-hen's whistle from the marsh at morn; To skirt with deafened ears and brain o'erborne Some foam-filled rapid charging down its rocks With iron roar of waters; far away Across wide-reeded meres, pensive with noon, To hear the querulous outcry of the loon; To lie among deep rocks, and watch all day On liquid heights the snowy clouds melt by; Or hear from wood-capped mountain-brows the jay Pierce the bright morning with his jibing cry. To feast on summer sounds; the jolted wains, The thresher humming from the farm near by, The prattling cricket's intermittent cry, The locust's rattle from the sultry lanes; Or in the shadow of some oaken spray, To watch, as through a mist of light and dreams, The far-off hayfields, where the dusty teams Drive round and round the lessening squares of hay, And hear upon the wind, now loud, now low, With drowsy cadence half a summer's day, The clatter of the reapers come and go. Far violet hills, horizons filmed with showers, The murmur of cool streams, the forest's gloom, The voices of the breathing grass, the hum Of ancient gardens overbanked with flowers: Thus, with a smile as golden as the dawn, And cool fair fingers radiantly divine, The mighty mother brings us in her hand, For all tired eyes and foreheads pinched and wan, Her restful cup, her beaker of bright wine: Drink, and be filled, and ye shall understand!(Archibald Lampman)
At gauzy dusk, thin haze like cigarette smoke ribbons past Chrysler Building's silver fins tapering delicately needletopped, Empire State's taller ...
Old Ben, the pensioner, is going down to die.Huddled in the mail-car, he turns a wistful eyeOn this familiar forest ...
Suddenly there came to meThe music of a mighty seaThat on a bare and iron shoreThundered with a deeper roarThan ...
When once the twilight locks no longerLocked in the long worm of my fingerNor damned the sea that sped about ...
The rain gullies the garden paths And tinkles on the broad sides of grass blades. A tree, at the end ...
is what we called her. The story was that her father had thrown Drano at her which was probably true, ...
PART I On Susquehanna's side, fair Wyoming! Although the wild-flower on thy ruin'd wall, And roofless homes, a sad remembrance ...
When once the twilight locks no longer Locked in the long worm of my finger Nor damned the sea that ...
There are days when one should be able to pluck off one's head like a dented or worn helmet, straight ...
Down mildest shores of milk-white sand, By cape and fair Floridian bay, Twixt billowy pines -- a surf asleep on ...
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