The Journey and the The Calm Book III The Twilight and the Darkness (The Journey and the Calm 3)

(–). The Poetical Works of John Keats. Endymion. Book II O balm! All records, saving thine, come cool, and calm, Through buried paths , where sleepy twilight dreams . Old darkness from his throne: 'twas like the sun The journey homeward to habitual self! . In starlight, by the three Hesperides.
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And must he patient stay, Tracing fantastic figures with his spear? At which he straightway started, and 'gan tell His paces back into the temple's chief; Warming and glowing strong in the belief Of help from Dian: O woodland Queen, What smoothest air thy smoother forehead woos? Where dost thou listen to the wide halloos Of thy disparted nymphs? Through what dark tree Glimmers thy crescent?

Wheresoe'er it be, 'Tis in the breath of heaven: Ah, if to thee It feels Elysian, how rich to me, An exil'd mortal, sounds its pleasant name!

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Within my breast there lives a choking flame— O let me cool it among the zephyr-boughs! A homeward fever parches up my tongue— O let me slake it at the running springs! Upon my ear a noisy nothing rings— O let me once more hear the linnet's note! Before mine eyes thick films and shadows float— O let me 'noint them with the heaven's light!

The poems of John Keats

Dost thou now lave thy feet and ankles white? O think how sweet to me the freshening sluice! Dost thou now please thy thirst with berry-juice? O think how this dry palate would rejoice!

If in soft slumber thou dost hear my voice, O think how I should love a bed of flowers! Deliver me from this rapacious deep! But 'twas not long; for, sweeter than the rill To its old channel, or a swollen tide To margin sallows, were the leaves he spied, And flowers, and wreaths, and ready myrtle crowns Up heaping through the slab: Increasing still in heart, and pleasant sense, Upon his fairy journey on he hastes; So anxious for the end, he scarcely wastes One moment with his hand among the sweets: Onward he goes — he stops — his bosom beats As plainly in his ear, as the faint charm Of which the throbs were born.

This still alarm, This sleepy music, forc'd him walk tiptoe: For it came more softly than the east could blow Arion's magic to the Atlantic isles; Or than the west, made jealous by the smiles Of thron'd Apollo, could breathe back the lyre To seas Ionian and Tyrian. O did he ever live, that lonely man, Who lov'd — and music slew not? Half-happy, by comparison of bliss, Is miserable. And down some swart abysm he had gone, Had not a heavenly guide benignant led To where thick myrtle branches, 'gainst his head Brushing, awakened: Upon soft verdure saw, one here, one there, Cupids a slumbering on their pinions fair.

After a thousand mazes overgone, At last, with sudden step, he came upon A chamber, myrtle wall'd, embowered high, Full of light, incense, tender minstrelsy, And more of beautiful and strange beside: For on a silken couch of rosy pride, In midst of all, there lay a sleeping youth Of fondest beauty; fonder, in fair sooth, Than sighs could fathom, or contentment reach: And coverlids gold-tinted like the peach, Or ripe October's faded marigolds, Fell sleek about him in a thousand folds— Not hiding up an Apollonian curve Of neck and shoulder, nor the tenting swerve Of knee from knee, nor ankles pointing light; But rather, giving them to the filled sight Officiously.

Sideway his face repos'd On one white arm, and tenderly unclos'd, By tenderest pressure, a faint damask mouth To slumbery pout; just as the morning south Disparts a dew-lipp'd rose. Above his head, Four lily stalks did their white honours wed To make a coronal; and round him grew All tendrils green, of every bloom and hue, Together intertwin'd and trammel'd fresh: The vine of glossy sprout; the ivy mesh, Shading its Ethiop berries; and woodbine, Of velvet leaves and bugle-blooms divine; Convolvulus in streaked vases flush; The creeper, mellowing for an autumn blush; And virgin's bower, trailing airily; With others of the sisterhood.

Hard by, Stood serene Cupids watching silently.

One, kneeling to a lyre, touch'd the strings, Muffling to death the pathos with his wings; And, ever and anon, uprose to look At the youth's slumber; while another took A willow-bough, distilling odorous dew, And shook it on his hair; another flew In through the woven roof, and fluttering-wise Rain'd violets upon his sleeping eyes. At these enchantments, and yet many more, The breathless Latmian wonder'd o'er and o'er; Until, impatient in embarrassment, He forthright pass'd, and lightly treading went To that same feather'd lyrist, who straightway, Smiling, thus whisper'd: For 'tis the nicest touch of human honour, When some ethereal and high-favouring donor Presents immortal bowers to mortal sense; As now 'tis done to thee, Endymion.

Hence Was I in no wise startled. So recline Upon these living flowers. And here is manna pick'd from Syrian trees, In starlight, by the three Hesperides. Feast on, and meanwhile I will let thee know Of all these things around us. Who would not be so prison'd? Aye, sleep; for when our love-sick queen did weep Over his waned corse, the tremulous shower Heal'd up the wound, and, with a balmy power, Medicined death to a lengthened drowsiness: The which she fills with visions, and doth dress In all this quiet luxury; and hath set Us young immortals, without any let, To watch his slumber through.

Adonis something mutter'd, The while one hand, that erst upon his thigh Lay dormant, mov'd convuls'd and gradually Up to his forehead. Then there was a hum Of sudden voices, echoing, "Come! Clear summer has forth walk'd Unto the clover-sward, and she has talk'd Full soothingly to every nested finch: Once more sweet life begin! But all were soon alive: For as delicious wine doth, sparkling, dive In nectar'd clouds and curls through water fair, So from the arbour roof down swell'd an air Odorous and enlivening; making all To laugh, and play, and sing, and loudly call For their sweet queen: Soon were the white doves plain, with necks stretch'd out, And silken traces lighten'd in descent; And soon, returning from love's banishment, Queen Venus leaning downward open arm'd: Her shadow fell upon his breast, and charm'd A tumult to his heart, and a new life Into his eyes.

Ah, miserable strife, But for her comforting! Who, who can write Of these first minutes? The unchariest muse To embracements warm as theirs makes coy excuse. O it has ruffled every spirit there, Saving love's self, who stands superb to share The general gladness: A scowl is sometimes on his brow, but who Look full upon it feel anon the blue Of his fair eyes run liquid through their souls. Endymion feels it, and no more controls The burning prayer within him; so, bent low, He had begun a plaining of his woe. But Venus, bending forward, said: Ah, smile not so, my son: I tell thee true, That when through heavy hours I used to rue The endless sleep of this new-born Adon', This stranger ay I pitied.

For upon A dreary morning once I fled away Into the breezy clouds, to weep and pray For this my love: Those same dark curls blown vagrant in the wind; Those same full fringed lids a constant blind Over his sullen eyes: I saw him throw Himself on wither'd leaves, even as though Death had come sudden; for no jot he mov'd, Yet mutter'd wildly.

I could hear he lov'd Some fair immortal, and that his embrace Had zoned her through the night. There is no trace Of this in heaven: I have mark'd each cheek, And find it is the vainest thing to seek; And that of all things 'tis kept secretest. So still obey the guiding hand that fends Thee safely through these wonders for sweet ends. Here must we leave thee. High afar The Latmian saw them minish into nought; And, when all were clear vanish'd, still he caught A vivid lightning from that dreadful bow.

When all was darkened, with Etnean throe The earth clos'd — gave a solitary moan— And left him once again in twilight lone. He did not rave, he did not stare aghast, For all those visions were o'ergone, and past, And he in loneliness: So, with unusual gladness, on he hies Through caves, and palaces of mottled ore, Gold dome, and crystal wall, and turquois floor, Black polish'd porticos of awful shade, And, at the last, a diamond balustrade, Leading afar past wild magnificence, Spiral through ruggedest loopholes, and thence Stretching across a void, then guiding o'er Enormous chasms, where, all foam and roar, Streams subterranean tease their granite beds; Then heighten'd just above the silvery heads Of a thousand fountains, so that he could dash The waters with his spear; but at the splash, Done heedlessly, those spouting columns rose Sudden a poplar's height, and 'gan to enclose His diamond path with fretwork, streaming round Alive, and dazzling cool, and with a sound, Haply, like dolphin tumults, when sweet shells Welcome the float of Thetis.


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Long he dwells On this delight; for, every minute's space, The streams with changed magic interlace: Sometimes like delicatest lattices, Cover'd with crystal vines; then weeping trees, Moving about as in a gentle wind, Which, in a wink, to watery gauze refin'd, Pour'd into shapes of curtain'd canopies, Spangled, and rich with liquid broideries Of flowers, peacocks, swans, and naiads fair. Swifter than lightning went these wonders rare; And then the water, into stubborn streams Collecting, mimick'd the wrought oaken beams, Pillars, and frieze, and high fantastic roof, Of those dusk places in times far aloof Cathedrals call'd.

He bade a loth farewel To these founts Protean, passing gulph, and dell, And torrent, and ten thousand jutting shapes, Half seen through deepest gloom, and griesly gapes, Blackening on every side, and overhead A vaulted dome like Heaven's, far bespread With starlight gems: But he revives at once: Forth from a rugged arch, in the dusk below, Came mother Cybele! Four maned lions hale The sluggish wheels; solemn their toothed maws, Their surly eyes brow-hidden, heavy paws Uplifted drowsily, and nervy tails Cowering their tawny brushes.

Silent sails This shadowy queen athwart, and faints away In another gloomy arch. Wherefore delay, Young traveller, in such a mournful place? Art thou wayworn, or canst not further trace The diamond path? And does it indeed end Abrupt in middle air? Yet earthward bend Thy forehead, and to Jupiter cloud-borne Call ardently! He was indeed wayworn; Abrupt, in middle air, his way was lost; To cloud-borne Jove he bowed, and there crost Towards him a large eagle, 'twixt whose wings, Without one impious word, himself he flings, Committed to the darkness and the gloom: Down, down, uncertain to what pleasant doom, Swift as a fathoming plummet down he fell Through unknown things; till exhaled asphodel, And rose, with spicy fannings interbreath'd, Came swelling forth where little caves were wreath'd So thick with leaves and mosses, that they seem'd Large honey-combs of green, and freshly teem'd With airs delicious.

In the greenest nook The eagle landed him, and farewel took. It was a jasmine bower, all bestrown With golden moss. His every sense had grown Ethereal for pleasure; 'bove his head Flew a delight half-graspable; his tread Was Hesperean; to his capable ears Silence was music from the holy spheres; A dewy luxury was in his eyes; The little flowers felt his pleasant sighs And stirr'd them faintly.

Verdant cave and cell He wander'd through, oft wondering at such swell Of sudden exaltation: Said he, "will all this gush of feeling pass Away in solitude? And must they wane, Like melodies upon a sandy plain, Without an echo? Then shall I be left So sad, so melancholy, so bereft! Yet still I feel immortal! O my love, My breath of life, where art thou? High above, Dancing before the morning gates of heaven? Or keeping watch among those starry seven, Old Atlas' children? Art a maid of the waters, One of shell-winding Triton's bright-hair'd daughters? Where'er thou art, Methinks it now is at my will to start Into thine arms; to scare Aurora's train, And snatch thee from the morning; o'er the main To scud like a wild bird, and take thee off From thy sea-foamy cradle; or to doff Thy shepherd vest, and woo thee mid fresh leaves.

No, no, too eagerly my soul deceives Its powerless self: I know this cannot be. O let me then by some sweet dreaming flee To her entrancements: Hither most gentle sleep! That thou wouldst spout a little streamlet o'er These sorry pages; then the verse would soar And sing above this gentle pair, like lark Over his nested young: The world has done its duty.

Yet, oh yet, Although the sun of poesy is set, These lovers did embrace, and we must weep That there is no old power left to steep A quill immortal in their joyous tears. Long time in silence did their anxious fears Question that thus it was; long time they lay Fondling and kissing every doubt away; Long time ere soft caressing sobs began To mellow into words, and then there ran Two bubbling springs of talk from their sweet lips.

Why not for ever and for ever feel That breath about my eyes?

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Ah, thou wilt steal Away from me again, indeed, indeed— Thou wilt be gone away, and wilt not heed My lonely madness. Speak, my kindest fair! Who will dare To pluck thee from me? And, of thine own will, Full well I feel thou wouldst not leave me. Still Let me entwine thee surer, surer — now How can we part?

Who, that thou canst not be for ever here, Or lift me with thee to some starry sphere? His soul will 'scape us — O felicity! How he does love me! His poor temples beat To the very tune of love — how sweet, sweet, sweet. Revive, dear youth, or I shall faint and die; Revive, or these soft hours will hurry by In tranced dulness; speak, and let that spell Affright this lethargy!

I cannot quell Its heavy pressure, and will press at least My lips to thine, that they may richly feast Until we taste the life of love again. I love thee, youth, more than I can conceive; And so long absence from thee doth bereave My soul of any rest: Yet, can I not to starry eminence Uplift thee; nor for very shame can own Myself to thee. Ah, dearest, do not groan Or thou wilt force me from this secrecy, And I must blush in heaven.

O that I Had done it already; that the dreadful smiles At my lost brightness, my impassion'd wiles, Had waned from Olympus' solemn height, And from all serious Gods; that our delight Was quite forgotten, save of us alone! And wherefore so ashamed? Yet must I be a coward! But what is this to love? O I could fly With thee into the ken of heavenly powers, So thou wouldst thus, for many sequent hours, Press me so sweetly.

Moments: Healing Poems for the Journey Home | Dr. Michael DeMaria

Sweet love, I was as vague as solitary dove, Nor knew that nests were built. Now a soft kiss— Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss, An immortality of passion's thine: Ere long I will exalt thee to the shine Of heaven ambrosial; and we will shade Ourselves whole summers by a river glade; And I will tell thee stories of the sky, And breathe thee whispers of its minstrelsy.

My happy love will overwing all bounds! O let me melt into thee; let the sounds Of our close voices marry at their birth; Let us entwine hoveringly — O dearth Of human words! Lispings empyrean will I sometime teach Thine honied tongue — lute-breathings, which I gasp To have thee understand, now while I clasp Thee thus, and weep for fondness — I am pain'd, Endymion: He return'd Entranced vows and tears. Ye who have yearn'd With too much passion, will here stay and pity, For the mere sake of truth; as 'tis a ditty Not of these days, but long ago 'twas told By a cavern wind unto a forest old; And then the forest told it in a dream To a sleeping lake, whose cool and level gleam A poet caught as he was journeying To Phoebus' shrine; and in it he did fling His weary limbs, bathing an hour's space, And after, straight in that inspired place He sang the story up into the air, Giving it universal freedom.

There Has it been ever sounding for those ears Whose tips are glowing hot. The legend cheers Yon centinel stars; and he who listens to it Must surely be self-doomed or he will rue it: For quenchless burnings come upon the heart, Made fiercer by a fear lest any part Should be engulphed in the eddying wind. As much as here is penn'd doth always find A resting place, thus much comes clear and plain; Anon the strange voice is upon the wane— And 'tis but echo'd from departing sound, That the fair visitant at last unwound Her gentle limbs, and left the youth asleep.

Now turn we to our former chroniclers. Hadst thou liv'd in days of old Hadst thou liv'd in days of old,. I am as brisk I am as brisk. Give me women, wine, and snuff Give me women, wine and snuff. Specimen of an Induction to a Poem Lo! I must tell a tale of chivalry;. A Fragment Young Calidore is paddling o'er the lake;.

To one who has been long in city pent To one who has been long in city pent,. I could be content Happy is England! I could be content. To Charles Cowden Clarke Oft have you seen a swan superbly frowning,. How many bards gild the lapses of time How many bards gild the lapses of time! Keen, fitful gusts are whisp'ring here and there Keen, fitful gusts are whisp'ring here and there.

To My Brothers Small, busy flames play through the fresh laid coals,. Addressed to Haydon Highmindedness, a jealousy for good,. Addressed to the Same Great spirits now on earth are sojourning;. Nymph of the downward smile, and sidelong glance,. To Kosciusko Good Kosciusko, thy great name alone. Sleep and Poetry What is more gentle than a wind in summer? I stood tip-toe upon a little hill I stood tip-toe upon a little hill,. Written in Disgust of Vulgar Superstition The church bells toll a melancholy round,.

On the Grasshopper and Cricket The poetry of earth is never dead. After dark vapours have opressed our plains After dark vapours have oppress'd our plains. God of the golden bow God of the golden bow,. This pleasant tale is like a little copse This pleasant tale is like a little copse. To Leigh Hunt, Esq. Glory and loveliness have passed away;. On Seeing the Elgin Marbles My spirit is too weak — mortality. On The Story of Rimini Who loves to peer up at the morning sun,. On the sea It keeps eternal whisperings around.

Unfelt, unheard, unseen Unfelt, unheard, unseen,. Hither, hither, love Hither, hither, love —. You say you love; but with a voice You say you love; but with a voice. The Gothic looks solemn The Gothic looks solemn,. Think not of it, sweet one, so Think not of it, sweet one, so; —. Apollo to the Graces Apol. Which of the fairest three.

O blush not so!

O blush not so O blush not so! Hence burgendy, claret, and port Hence burgundy, claret, and port,. God of the Meridian God of the meridian,. Lines on the Mermaid Tavern Souls of poets dead and gone,.

Moments: Healing Poems for the Journey Home

Time's sea hath been five years at its slow ebb Time's sea hath been five years at its slow ebb;. To the Nile Son of the old moon-mountains African! Spenser, a jealous honorer of thine Spenser! O thou whose face hath felt the winter's wind O thou whose face hath felt the winter's wind,. Extracts from an Opera O! O, I am frighten'd with most hateful thoughts Oh, I am frighten'd with most hateful thoughts! Song The stranger lighted from his steed,. O sleep a little while white pearl Asleep! Four seasons fill the measure of the year Four seasons fill the measure of the year;.

Where be ye going, you Devon maid Where be ye going, you Devon maid? Over the hill and over the dale Over the hill and over the dale,. O that a week could be an age, and we. To Homer Standing aloof in giant ignorance,. Give me your patience sister while I frame. Sweet, sweet is the greeting of eyes Sweet, sweet is the greeting of eyes,. On Visiting the Tomb of Burns The town, the churchyard, and the setting sun,.

Old Meg she was a gipsey Old Meg she was a gipsey,. There was a naughty bay There was a naughty boy,. To Ailsa Rock Hearken, thou craggy ocean pyramid! This mortal body of a thousand days This mortal body of a thousand days. All gentle folks who owe a grudge All gentle folk who owe a grudge. Of late two dainties were before me plac'd Of late two dainties were before me plac'd. There is a joy in footing slow across a silent plain There is a charm in footing slow across a silent plain,. Not Aladdin magian Not Aladdin magian. Read me a lesson, Muse, and speak it loud Read me a lesson, Muse, and speak it loud.

Upon my life, Sir Nevis,I am piqu'd Mrs. Upon my life Sir Nevis I am pique'd. Fragment of a Castle-builder Nature withheld cassandra in the skies,. And what is Love? Fancy Ever let the Fancy roam,. Bards of passion and of mirth Bards of passion and of mirth,. Spirit here that reignest Spirit here that reignest! I had a dove, and the sweet dove died I had a dove and the sweet dove died;. The Eve of St. Agnes' Eve — Ah, bitter chill it was! Mark Upon a Sabbath-day it fell;. Why did I laugh tonight? No voice will tell Why did I laugh to-night?

No voice will tell.