john_keats

1、John Keats,A poet is a sage; A humanist, physician to all men,His poetry,Endymion 1818Isabella 1818The Eve of Saint Agnes 1820Odes : 1819-1820 Ode to a Nightingale Ode to Autumn Ode on a Grecian Urn,Ode on a Grecian Urn,Here the poet gives his comment on a Greek vase which, as a relic of ancient culture, has caught his imagination. On the surface of the vase there is an ornamental band of sculpture with figures of trees, pipes, and lovers on it. Though there are quiet forms, they possess and con

2、vey the beauty, the significance and the eternity of art, which appealed to Keats. So at the end of the poem, the poet emphasizes the relationship between beauty and truth: “Beauty is truth, and truth beauty”, thus declaring his worship of beauty, esp. in the field of art.,ODE ON A GRECIAN URNBy John Keats,IThou still unravished 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-fringed le

3、gend haunts 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 loath? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?,IIHeard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared, Pipe to the spirit dities of no tone. Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bar

4、e; 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 Forever wilt thou love, and she be fair!,IIIAh, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And, happy melodist, unweari-ed, Forever piping songs forever new; More happy love! more happy, happy love! Forever warm and still to be enjoyed, Forever panting, and forever young; All breathing human passion far above, That le

5、aves a heart high-sorrowful and cloyed, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.,IVWho are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Leadst thou that heifer 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 pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can eer return.,VO 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 sayst, Beauty is truth, truth beauty-that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.,

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