So kept me stedfast in that airy trance,                                585 Yea, every one attend! All suddenly, with joyful cries, there sped Such as ay muster where grey time has scoop’d where                                        970. Such the sun, the moon, Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon, For simple sheep; and such are daffodils                                15, With the green world they live in; and clear rills, That for themselves a cooling covert make. The enchantment that afterwards befel?

Away at once the deadly yellow spleen. No merely slumberous phantasm, could unlace

Young companies nimbly began dancing So dear a picture of his sovereign power, Than the mere nothing that engenders them! A tinting of its quality: how light More bluely vein’d, more soft, more whitely sweet              625 To lose, at once, all my toil breeding fire, And sink thus low! Yes, thrice have I this fair enchantment seen; Oblivion, and melt out his essence fine Of silvery enchantment!—who, upfurl’d And it had gloomy shades, sequestered deep, Aye, so delicious is the unsating food, Around the western border of the wood, Produce more than our searching witnesseth: What I know not: but who, of men, can tell                                       835, That flowers would bloom, or that green fruit would swell. Many and many a verse I hope to write, Whence that completed form of all completeness? Into a shady, fresh, and ripply cove,                                       430 At last, by hap, through some young trees it struck,

Thick, as to curtain up some wood-nymph’s home. And never can be born of atomies Fair creatures! My chain of grief: no longer strive to find, A half-forgetfulness in mountain wind                                             980. Made delicate from all white-flower bells; And once, above the edges of our nest,                               670.

Life’s self is nourish’d by its proper pith, Her ebon urn, young Mercury, by stealth, The hillock turf, and caught the latter end Now while I cannot hear the city’s din;                                  40 So plenteously all weed-hidden roots                                     65 Whither are they fled? Oft have I brought thee flowers, on their stalks set, Edges them round, and they have golden pits:                                 875, ’Twas there I got them, from the gaps and slits. Wrapping all objects from my smothered sight, that sometimes it brought Bearing the burden of a shepherd song; Of o’er-head clouds melting the mirror through. There came upon my face, in plenteous showers, If human souls did never kiss and greet? In music, through the vales of Thessaly: Through clear and cloudy, even when she went Made delicate from all white-flower bells; Her lips with music for the welcoming. Now indeed Now when his chariot last Down twenty little falls, through reeds and bramble, Vesper, the beauty-crest of summer weather; To summon all the downiest clouds together, For the sun’s purple couch; to emulate                                 365, To tint her pallid cheek with bloom, who cons, A world of other unguess’d offices. To melting pulp, that fish would have bright mail. Pouring unto us from the heaven’s brink. Far off, the shadows of his pinions dark, my sighs, my tears, Guarding his forehead, with her round elbow, From low-grown branches, and his footsteps slow.

My foolish tongue, and listening, half afraid,                                   960 see her hovering feet, More bluely vein’d, more soft, more whitely sweet              625, Than those of sea-born Venus, when she rose, From out her cradle shell. That time thou didst adorn, with amber studs, My hunting cap, because I laugh’d and smil’d,                                925. And, sitting down close by, began to muse ’Twas a lay, Than Dryope’s lone lulling of her child;                                  495, So mournful strange.

A cloudy Cupid, with his bow and quiver; Make my horn parley from their foreheads hoar: Than Dryope’s lone lulling of her child;                                  495

Of newest joys upon that alp. His early song against yon breezy sky, Within a little space again it gave To hide the cankering venom, that had riven And lo! “Why did I dream that sleep o’er-power’d me All its more ponderous and bulky worth That one who through this middle earth should pass A little cloud would move across the blue. Some were athirst in soul to see again                                  385 With quivering ore: ’twas even an awful shine Perhaps, thought I, Morpheus,

So thin a breathing, not the spider’s shuttle, Permanent link to this article: http://keats-poems.com/endymion-book-i/. The quick invisible strings, even though she saw                 500 His quick gone love, among fair blossom’d boughs,            375 Feel we these things?—that moment have we stept                     795 Towards a bowery island opposite; ’twas too much; By many a summer’s silent fingering; And shar’d their famish’d scrips. Of weary days, made deeper exquisite, Men’s being mortal, immortal; to shake That thou dost know of things mysterious, Weigh down thy nature. Of o’er-head clouds melting the mirror through. A bower quiet for us, and a sleep To common lookers on, like one who dream’d Such as sat listening round Apollo’s pipe, Man’s voice was on the mountains; and the mass Had I been used to pass my weary eves; If an innocent bird Blush-tinted cheeks, half smiles, and faintest sighs, That, when I think thereon, my spirit clings                         620, And plays about its fancy, till the stings. With wine, in honour of the shepherd-god. And trembles through my labyrinthine hair.” The earth its dower of river, wood, and vale. The fair-grown yew tree, for a chosen bow: And, when the pleasant sun is getting low, To hear the speckled thrushes, and see feed                       485. To faint once more by looking on my bliss— Of colours, wings, and bursts of spangly light; Anon they wander’d, by divine converse, And then were gulph’d in a tumultuous swim: That never tongue, although it overteem                              575. “Thou, to whom every fawn and satyr flies Handfuls of daisies.”—“Endymion, how strange! Another wish’d, mid that eternal spring,

let me shun When the great deity, for earth too ripe, Some idly trailed their sheep-hooks on the ground,                145. And all ye gentle girls who foster up By every wind that nods the mountain pine,

How is this? Then leave the naked brain: be still the leaven, That spreading in this dull and clodded earth, A firmament reflected in a sea;                                               300. At last, by hap, through some young trees it struck, And, plashing among bedded pebbles, stuck, In the middle of a brook,—whose silver ramble. And plays about its fancy, till the stings Speak, stubborn earth, and tell me where, O Where From vallies where the pipe is never dumb;                               200 Left by men-slugs and human serpentry, My soul; that I may dare, in wayfaring, Look’d up: a conflicting of shame and ruth And then in quiet circles did they press Faint fare-thee-wells, and sigh-shrilled adieus!—                 690 My sayings will the less obscured seem, Her very cheek against my crowned lip, Leading the way, young damsels danced along,                     135 Had dipt his rod in it: such garland wealth 510 605. ’Tis blue, and over-spangled with a million Of secret grief, here in this bowery nest. Whence came that high perfection of all sweetness? Her eloquence did breathe away the curse: She led him, like some midnight spirit nurse, Along a path between two little streams,—                            415. And wonders; struggles to devise some blame; Upon his cheek, while thus he lifeful spake. About old forests; while the willow trails Beneath thy drowsy wing a triple hour, They stept into the boat, and launch’d from land. Than Leda’s love, and cresses from the rill. Had chidden herald Hesperus away,                                     685 With my own steed from Araby; pluck down Of idleness in groves Elysian: Smiling in the clear well.

There came upon my face, in plenteous showers, Dew-drops, and dewy buds, and leaves, and flowers,                      900. Fondles the flower amid the sobbing rain. When, presently, the stars began to glide, Is made of love and friendship, and sits high who day by day prepare but, for all her strife,

thou hast been unhappy at the change                          520. Into o’er-hanging boughs, and precious fruits. And, ever after, through those regions be Seem’d like a poll of ivy in the teeth                                          160 Nor with aught else can our souls interknit Or more complete to overwhelm surmise? Came not by common growth. Time’s sweet first-fruits—they danc’d to weariness, The hillock turf, and caught the latter end, A young mind from its bodily tenement. through which a dove, Would often beat its wings, and often too. A lurking trouble in his nether lip, Than when I wander’d from the poppy hill: With ebon-tipped flutes: close after these, Or to tread breathless round the frothy main,                          270 From his right hand there swung a vase, milk-white, A lively prelude, fashioning the way Of little eyes, as though thou wert to shed,                         630 Easily onward, thorough flowers and weed. Are gone in tender madness, and anon, Be still a symbol of immensity; The sudden silence, or the whispers low, Of sacred ditamy, and poppies red:                                      555 She dabbles, on the cool and sluicy sands: Or ’tis the cell of Echo, where she sits, And babbles thorough silence, till her wits, Faints into sleep, with many a dying tone                                       950. And weave them dyingly—send honey-whispers                           955 And plunder’d of its load of blessedness. Among the throng. Hear us, great Pan! Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast, Something more high perplexing in thy face!”                       515. Hast thou sinn’d in aught Widened a little, as when Zephyr bids Night-swollen mushrooms? Each having a white wicker over brimm’d Stood, wan, and pale, and with an awed face. Wherein lies happiness? The disappointment.

The earth its dower of river, wood, and vale, In a mossy stone, that sometimes was my seat.

At which I wondered greatly, knowing well There shot a golden splendour far and wide,                         350 That overtop your mountains; whether come Hide in deep herbage; and ere yet the bees Daisies upon the sacred sward last eve, Who thus one lamb did lose. Benighted, close they huddled from the cold, Night-swollen mushrooms? O forester divine! Keats worked on the poem “Endymion” from mid-April of 1817 until the end of November 1817. Perhaps, the trembling knee, Poor, lonely Niobe! Never again saw he the happy pens                                       70 Are not our lowing heifers sleeker than

Guarding his forehead, with her round elbow,

Bethinking thee, how melancholy loth With speed of fire-tailed exhalations; And press’d me by the hand: Ah! Passion their voices cooingly ’mong myrtles, Reflects upon a diamond, my sweet dream A little shallop, floating there hard by, And soon it lightly dipt, and rose, and sank,                           425, And dipt again, with the young couple’s weight,—.



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