The Complete Works: Poetry, Plays, Letters and Extensive Biographies. John Keats. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: John Keats
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sweet Fancy! let her loose;

      Every thing is spoilt by use:

      Where’s the cheek that doth not fade,

      Too much gaz’d at? Where’s the maid

      Whose lip mature is ever new?

      Where’s the eye, however blue,

      Doth not weary? Where’s the face

      One would meet in every place?

      Where’s the voice, however soft,

      One would hear so very oft?

      At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth

      Like to bubbles when rain pelteth.

      Let, then, winged Fancy find

      Thee a mistress to thy mind:

      Dulcet-eyed as Ceres’ daughter,

      Ere the God of Torment taught her

      How to frown and how to chide;

      With a waist and with a side

      White as Hebe’s, when her zone

      Slipt its golden clasp, and down

      Fell her kirtle to her feet,

      While she held the goblet sweet,

      And Jove grew languid. – Break the mesh

      Of the Fancy’s silken leash;

      Quickly break her prison-string

      And such joys as these she’ll bring. —

      Let the winged Fancy roam

      Pleasure never is at home.

      A Galloway Song

      From a Letter to Tom Keats

      Ah! ken ye what I met the day

      Out oure the mountains

      A coming down by craggies grey

      An mossie fountains -

      Ah goud hair’d Marie yeve I pray

      Ane minute’s guessing -

      For that I met upon the way

      Is past expressing.

      As I stood where a rocky brig

      A torrent crosses I spied upon a misty rig

      A troup o’ horses -

      And as they trotted down the glen

      I sped to meet them

      To see if I might know the men

      To stop and greet them.

      First Willie on his sleek mare came

      At canting gallop

      His long hair rustled like a flame

      On board a shallop.

      Then came his brother Rab and then

      Young Peggy’s mither

      And Peggy too – adown the glen

      They went together -

      I saw her wrappit in her hood

      Fra wind and raining -

      Her cheek was flush wi’ timid blood

      Twixt growth and waning -

      She turn’d her dazed head full oft

      For there her brithers

      Came riding with her bridegroom soft

      And mony ithers.

      Young Tam came up an’ eyed me quick

      With reddened cheek -

      Braw Tam was daffed’’ like a chick -

      He coud na speak -

      Ah Marie they are all gane hame

      Through blustering weather

      An’ every heart is full on flame

      A’ light as feather.

      Ah! Marie they are all gone hame

      Fra happy wedding,

      Whilst I – Ah is it not a shame?

      Sad tears am shedding.

      Hymn to Apollo

      God of the golden bow,

      And of the golden lyre,

      And of the golden hair,

      And of the golden fire,

      Charioteer

      Of the patient year,

      Where – where slept thine ire,

      When like a blank idiot I put on thy wreath,

      Thy laurel, thy glory,

      The light of thy story,

      Or was I a worm – too low crawling, for death?

      O Delphic Apollo!

      The Thunderer grasp’d and grasp’d,

      The Thunderer frown’d and frown’d;

      The eagle’s feathery mane

      For wrath became stiffen’d – the sound

      Of breeding thunder

      Went drowsily under,

      Muttering to be unbound.

      O why didst thou pity, and for a worm

      Why touch thy soft lute

      Till the thunder was mute,

      Why was not I crush’d – such a pitiful germ?

      O Delphic Apollo!

      The Pleiades were up,

      Watching the silent air;

      The seeds and roots in the Earth

      Were swelling for summer fare;

      The Ocean, its neighbour,

      Was at its old labour,

      When, who – who did dare

      To tie, like a madman, thy plant round his brow.

      And grin and look proudly,

      And blaspheme so loudly,

      And live for that honour, to stoop to thee now?

      O Delphic Apollo!

      Addressed to the Same

      Great spirits now on earth are sojourning;

      He of the cloud, the cataract, the lake,

      Who on Helvellyn’s summit, wide awake,

      Catches his freshness from Archangel’s wing:

      He of the rose, the violet, the spring.

      The social smile, the chain for Freedom’s sake:

      And lo! – whose stedfastness would never take

      A meaner sound than Raphael’s whispering.

      And other spirits there are standing apart

      Upon the forehead of the age to come;

      These, these will give the world another heart,

      And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum

      Of mighty workings? – – –

      Listen awhile ye nations, and be dumb.

      On Receiving a Curious Shell, And a Copy of Verses, From the Same Ladies

      Hast thou from the caves of Golconda, a gem

      Pure as the ice-drop that froze on the mountain?

      Bright as the humming-bird’s green diadem,

      When it flutters in sunbeams that shine through a fountain?

      Hast thou a goblet