Ode to a Grecian Urn
By John Keats
1.
THOU still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are the? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
2.
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Heard melodies are sweet, but tho unheard
envelope怎么读Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the nsual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can tho trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal—yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, lava
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
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3.
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
中口报名And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd, shoottothrill
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
4.
Who are the coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or a shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
neutralizeAnd, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
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O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tea us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,"—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
