Ode to a Nightingale

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 thine happiness,

That thou, light-wingèd Dryad of the trees,

In some melodious plot

Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,

Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

O for a draught of vintage! that hath been

Cool'd a long age in the deep-delvèd earth,

Tasting of Flora and the country-green,

Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburntmirth!

O 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;

That I might drink, and leave the worldunseen,

And with thee fade away into the forestdim:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget

What thou among the leaves hast neverknown,

The weariness, the fever, and the fret

Here, where men sit and hear each othergroan;

Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last greyhairs,

Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin,and dies;

Where but to think is to be full of sorrow

And leaden-eyed despairs;

Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,

Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,

Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,

But on the viewless wings of Poesy,

Though the dull brain perplexes andretards:

Already with thee! tender is the night,

And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,

Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays

But here there is no light,

Save what from heaven is with the breezesblown

Through verdurous glooms and winding mossyways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,

Nor what soft incense hangs upon theboughs,

But, in embalmèd darkness, guess each sweet

Wherewith the seasonable month endows

The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-treewild;

White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;

Fast-fading violets cover'd up in leaves;

And mid-May's eldest child,

The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,

The murmurous haunt of flies on summereves.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time

I have been half in love with easefulDeath,

Call'd him soft names in many a musèdrhyme,

To take into the air my quiet breath;

Now more than ever seems it rich to die,

To cease upon the midnight with no pain,

While thou art pouring forth thy soulabroad

In such an ecstasy!

Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears invain—

To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortalBird!

No hungry generations tread thee down;

The voice I hear this passing night washeard

In ancient days by emperor and clown:

Perhaps the self-same song that found apath

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sickfor home,

She stood in tears amid the alien corn;

The same that ofttimes hath

Charm'd magic casements, opening on thefoam

Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell

To toll me back from thee to my sole self!

Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well

As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.

Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades

Past the near meadows, over the stillstream,

Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep

In the next valley-glades:

Was it a vision, or a waking dream?

Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep?

(视频转自腾讯）

- THE END -

一颗帮助学弟学妹的初心

一个学长学姐创立的组织

阳光正好 青春不老

念念不忘 必有回响