Footnotes
[572:1] The edition of 1821 read,—
The innumerable caravan that moves
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take.
JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. 1795-1820.
When Freedom from her mountain-height
Unfurled her standard to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,
And set the stars of glory there.
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes
The milky baldric of the skies,
[[574]]And striped its pure, celestial white
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With streakings of the morning light.
Flag of the free heart's hope and home!
By angel hands to valour given!
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome,
And all thy hues were born in heaven.
Forever float that standard sheet!
Where breathes the foe but falls before us,
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet,
And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us?
The American Flag.
JOHN KEATS. 1795-1821.
A thing of beauty is a joy forever;
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness.
Endymion. Book i.
He ne'er is crown'd
With immortality, who fears to follow
Where airy voices lead.
Endymion. Book ii.
To sorrow
I bade good-morrow,
And thought to leave her far away behind;
But cheerly, cheerly,
She loves me dearly;
She is so constant to me, and so kind.
Endymion. Book iv.
So many, and so many, and such glee.
Endymion. Book iv.
Love in a hut, with water and a crust,
Is—Love, forgive us!—cinders, ashes, dust.
Lamia. Part ii.
There was an awful rainbow once in heaven:
We know her woof, her texture; she is given
In the dull catalogue of common things.
Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.
Lamia. Part ii.
[[575]]
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Music's golden tongue
Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor.
The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 3.
The silver snarling trumpets 'gan to chide.
The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 4.
Asleep in lap of legends old.
The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 15.
Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose,
Flushing his brow.
The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 16.
A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard thing.
The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 18.
As though a rose should shut and be a bud again.
The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 27.
And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon.
The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 30.
He play'd an ancient ditty long since mute,
In Provence call'd "La belle dame sans mercy."
The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 33.
That large utterance of the early gods!
Hyperion. Book i.
Those green-robed senators of mighty woods,
Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars,
Dream, and so dream all night without a stir.
Hyperion. Book i.
The days of peace and slumberous calm are fled.
Hyperion. Book ii.
Dance and Provençal song and sunburnt mirth!
Oh for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene!
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stainèd mouth.
Ode to a Nightingale.
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that ofttimes hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
Ode to a Nightingale.
[[576]]
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Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time.
Ode on a Grecian Urn.
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on,—
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone.
Ode on a Grecian Urn.
Thou, silent form, doth tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
Ode on a Grecian Urn.
Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
Ode on a Grecian Urn.
In a drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy tree,
Thy branches ne'er remember
Their green felicity.
Stanzas.
Hear ye not the hum
Of mighty workings?
Addressed to Haydon. Sonnet x.
Much have I travell'd 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-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne,
Yet did I never 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
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise,
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
On first looking into Chapman's Homer.
E'en like the passage of an angel's tear
That falls through the clear ether silently.
To One who has been long in City pent.
[[577]]
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The poetry of earth is never dead.
On the Grasshopper and Cricket.
Here lies one whose name was writ in water.[577:1]