Despite the semi-darkness around, he is able to imagine the flowers and their colours through their sweet scent. The poet is drowsy and numb, as if he had taken hemlock or opiates both medicinal sedatives , or been immersed in the Lethe, the river of forgetfulness in Greek myth. The bird's happiness is conveyed in its singing. Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! Perhaps even Ruth whose story is told in the Old Testament heard it. I love how it begins: My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains Up until we studied Keats, I'd found poetry boring and lacking. The writing was not well legible; and it was difficult to arrange the stanzas on so many scraps.
The passion of the chase, the fairness of the youth, and the beauty of the beloved are all frozen for eternity. Thus the death-wish in the ode may be a reaction to a multitude of troubles and frustrations, all of which were still with him. The last five syllables of the line are stressed monosyllabic words. And just how thrilling the experience can be when you allow words to help you feel the world through another animal. For him who is dead, it will be no more than a requiem. I'd go into detail about what the poem was about but I'd have to tread quite carefully so as to not ruin it for anyone, so instead, I've decided to let you find out for yourself. It is a verb made out of a noun.
In April, a nightingale built her nest in the garden, and Brown writes: ' Keats felt a tranquil and continual joy in her song; and one morning he took his chair from the breakfast table to the grass-plot under a plum, where he sat for two or three hours. He cannot see what flowers are at his feet but has to guess which ones they are by their various scents. All these odes were written in his most creative year of 1819. But his words made me realise just how imaginative a well-writ When I was in high school, we studied a few of John Keats poems. I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmèd darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; 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 summer eves. Keats felt a tranquil and continual joy in her song; and one morning he took his chair from the breakfast-table to the grass plot under a plum-tree, where he sat for two or three hours. 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-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim: Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, 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.
As mortal beings who will eventually die, we can delay death through the timelessness of music, poetry, and other types of art. The creative activity arising out of his appeal to poetic imagination limits itself to a three-line ornate composition, at the end of which Keats is back on the ground again, far away from the nightingale's habitation. Diction: Stanza V is remarkable for Keats' poetic diction. He asks for a draught of wine that can induce in him a state of druggedness so that he can fly away into the blissful world of the bird. Keats weaves this dense tapestry of vowel and consonant sounds in order to convey the sense of Dionysian abandon at the heart of the second stanza. Hence the poet seeks an alternative life-in-death state where to be dead at this moment is to preserve for posterity this unsullied moment of ecstasy and glory. The song that Ruth had heard reminded her of her separation from her home and the song that had thrilled Keats reminds him of his separation from the bird.
Fled is that music:- Do I wake or sleep? In this poem Ode to a Nightingale, we find Keats' skill in word painting and verbal coinage. The happiness which Keats hears in the song of the nightingale has made him happy momentarily but has been succeeded by a feeling of torpor which in turn is succeeded by the conviction that life is not only painful but also intolerable. His imagination will serve just as well. The bird occupies the blurred line between life and death, sleep and wakefulness. The final stanza however depicts what he thinks his future holds for him, which he depicts as a life lived by rules set by other people, a life of utter dependency and helplessness.
He soon finds himself back with his everyday, trouble-filled self. Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! With his assistance I succeeded, and this was his Ode to a Nightingale. He would like to drink himself into oblivion--but unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, he doesn't have any liquor available. Keats odes are remarkable for their fusion of intensity of feeling and concreteness of detail and description. The bird is present only in the first section and it is absent in the rest of the poem.
Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep? Keats longs for a draught of wine which would take him out of himself and allow him to join his existence with that of the bird. Fled is that music—Do I wake or sleep? The poet turns to poetic fancy to bridge the division between him and the bird. The physical sensations of aches and pains are juxtaposed with the state of drowsy numbness and druggedness. Keats uses the senses heavily in all his poetry, relying on synaesthetic description to draw the reader into the poem. Keats is painfully aware that after his death, he shall not be able to listen to the bird's song which shall continue to be heard in the world. Each one of them is given prominence separately. When he came into the house, I perceived he had some scraps of paper in his hand, and these he was quietly thrusting behind the books.
When I was in high school, we studied a few of John Keats poems. 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 world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim: Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs, 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. And since I've written a story where students actually study a few of his poems, I've been re-reading them lately. O, for a draught of vintage! However, the music has evaporated into the air, which shows the transitory nature of happiness. Yet Keats concludes the poem with unresolved questions. Ode to a Nightingale is a poem of eight stanzas, each stanza consisting of ten lines. This appeal to poetic fancy has not liberated him from the human world of pain and misery, but has helped him to respond with delight to the naturalistic world, full of colourful flowers.