1. Original Text
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 haunt about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual 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 those 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,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu;
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,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
Who are these 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 sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease 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.
2. Initial Reaction
This poem was the most amazing thing ever. I was blown away by how complex and difficult to understand it was. John Keats masterfully captured something amazing in his ode. The poem is about the beauty of mankind and how the urn depicts history. It talks about how man is a beautiful creature that has forever left its make in history.
3. Paraphrase
You are still a silent virgin beauty,
A picture that is unmoving and quiet,
Ancient historian, why can’t really express
A lofty tale more beautifully than our song:
What forest fringed legend looks like your body
Of gods or humans or both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad running? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild pleasure?
Melodies that are heard are amazing, but those unheard,
Are even more amazing: therefore, you joyful pipes, play on;
Not to the physical ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, you can not leave
Your song, nor can these trees become bare;
Bold lover, never, never can you kiss,
Though almost achieving victory - but, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though you have no bliss,
For ever will you love, and she be fair!
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the spring goodbye;
And, happy melodist, not tired,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoyed,
Always panting and always young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloyed,
A hot forehead, and a dry tongue.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Leading you cow lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands dressed?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this religious morning?
And, little town, your streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why your art uninhabited, can ever return.
O loft shape! Pleasing attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens stressed,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Your, silent form, dost tease 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.
4. SWIFTT
SW = Syntax/Word Choice
The complexity of the ode is added to by the structure of the poem. Keats uses strong and long sentences as a way to communicate the beauty of the urn. There are 5, 10 line stanzas. Keats uses rhetorical questions to ponder the wonders of the urn. Because the poem is of olden times, it is very formal, archaic, and moves words around to display a hidden meaning.
I = Imagery
The ode is rich with imagery because the main part of the poem is the detailed description of the urn to allow readers to imagine exactly what the urn is depicting. The poem describes youthful lovers, a musician and a fair maiden, a tree with a musician under it, and a priest and townsfolk attending a sacrifice. Keats’ uses some amazing diction sentence structure to perfectly describe the beauty of man forever frozen in time on the Grecian urn.
F = Figurative Language
Keats uses different types of figurative language to describe the pictures on the urn. He uses repetition in lines 17 and 25 and also uses apostrophe to address the urn and the people and objects on it. Keats also uses personification by writing that about a tree and saying “Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu”. Keats uses paradoxes multiple times in the poem. One example is that man’s interpretation of art is futile just like comparing life and the lifelessness of the urn’s depictions.
T = Tone
The tone of the poem seems to be that of admiration and wonder at the amazing scenes that the urn depicts. The narrator seems to be amazed at how perfectly the urn could contain the beauty of humanity and the nature around us.
T= Theme
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty—that is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.” These last two lines of the poem perfectly show the theme of the poem. Keats is trying to say that beauty is all man can gain from the world around him, and it is all he needs to know about the world. He claims that beauty is the truth of earth, and the truths of earth are its beauty.
5. Conclusion
My initial reaction was true for the most part. The poem focuses on the beauty on man and how the urn was able to immortalize this beauty. Keats seems to be trying to say that the only thing that will stay when we all die is the beauty that we created and that the world has in its surrounding. He claims that the beauty of the earth is the only truth because it is the only thing that can withstand the test of time that everyone parishes to.
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