John Keats. 1795–1821

624. Ode to a Nightingale

MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,	5
But being too happy in thine happiness,
That thou, light-wingèd Dryad of the trees,
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.	10
O for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delvèd earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country-green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South!	15
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:	20
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,	25
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.	30
Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee! tender is the night,	35
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.	40
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;	45
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.	50
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a musèd rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,	55
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—
To thy high requiem become a sod.	60
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path	65
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that ofttimes hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.	70
Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades	75
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep?	80

The poem that I have chosen is “Ode to a nightingale” by John Keats. The main topic of the poem is the expression of the poet’s admiration for the nightingale because of its freedom to sing the Summer without having the problems we have in our daily reality.

First of all, the poet starts situating the reader by describing the sensation that a person has when he is drunk. Since the beginning, this is (that someone feels drunk) the perfect estate that the poet explains as a vehicle to become closer to the nightingale. In the first stanza, the poet starts saying: “My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, or emptied some dull opiate to the drains”. After that, he starts singing its praises clearly on the basis of this feeling.

In the second and the third stanzas, he basically focuses on how he would desire to drink a good wine (“o, for a draught of vintage!”) through which to be able to arrive to the world the nightingale lives in. To “fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget what thou among the leaves hast never known, […] (“where but to think is to be full of sorrow”). A world which Keats describes as a grey and painful place.

However, despite the fact that the poet considers the feeling of being drunk to be the perfect one to reach this mind’s state of disconnection, does not mean that he is going to drink wine to get it, but he feels as if he was drunk and he is going to fly with his mind to an imaginary world through his poetry (“I will fly to thee, not charioted by Bacchus and pards [Bacchus is the Roman God of the wine], but on the viewless wings of Poesy”). At this point, he starts travelling a world of fantasy when he talks about the moon, stars, etc.

The fifth stanza is dedicated to a vision of the four seasons , which he would be able to contemplate freely if he was like a nightingale: Spring (“the grass, the thicket. And the the fruit-tree wild”); Summer (“the coming musk- rose, full of dewy wine, the murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves”); Autumn (“fast fadin violets cover’d up in leaves”); and Winter (“white hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine”). In just few verses, very cleverly written, he condenses a whole year.

On the other hand, in the sixth stanza he talks about the death in the perfect moment of quietness. This created fantasy sphere is the perfect place to die for the poet. So, that is why he says he is “half in love with easeful death”, in front of the marvelous song of the nightingale.

There is also a contraposition between the mortality of men and the inmortality of this bird, whose song has been heard by many generations and still remains (“inmortal bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; the voice I hear this passing night was heard”). This inmortal bird will continue singing in the future, however, he will not be there to be able to listen to it because he will be dead.

Finally, the last stanza brings him back to reality. Starting with the word “forlorn!”, which is the last connection with the previous stanza in the same way it is his last connection with the magic world, he becomes disillusioned about the capacity to cheat our minds and he realises that the song of the nightingale is just a mere song belonging to this world (“adieu! The fancy cannot cheat so well….. deceiving elf”). Keats wonders if that music, which has disappeared now, was real or a dream.

The poem is written is a perfect structure: it is devided into eight stanzas with a rhyme of abab cde cde in all of them.

The language is absolutely accessible and the musicality of the poem allows Keats to take the reader to the same world of fantasy that he is dreaming . Furthermore, some exclamations (“and suburnt mirth!”; “to my sole self!”) and some rhetorical questions (“do I wake or sleep”?) make the contact with the reader to be more dynamic.

To sum up, I consider the title like a clear reflected of the whole poem and the poem itself as a diary of sensations written by Keats to escape from the reality surrounding him.

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