He died there on February 23, 1821, at the age of twenty-five, and was buried in the Protestant cemetery. Are not our wide plains Speckled with countless fleeces? Endymion follow'd — for it seem'd that one Ever pursued, the other strove to shun— Follow'd their languid mazes, till well nigh He had left thinking of the mystery,— And was now rapt in tender hoverings Over the vanish'd bliss. What he did, in hindsight, regret, was making Endymion public. Ich habe mich durch dieses Buch mehr schlecht als recht gequält. Ah, dearest, do not groan Or thou wilt force me from this secrecy, And I must blush in heaven. What automated defects there are in it may even serve to accelerate our sense of the youth and brightness of this voice of aspiration.
Book I gives Endymion's account of his dreams and experiences, as related to Peona, which provides the background for the rest of the poem. Such the sun, the moon, Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon For simple sheep; and such are daffodils With the green world they live in; and clear rills That for themselves a cooling covert make Against the hot season; the mid forest brake, Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms: And such too is the grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead; All lovely tales that we have heard or read: An endless fountain of immortal drink, Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink. While astonishment With deep-drawn sighs was quieting, he went Into a marble gallery, passing through A mimic temple, so complete and true In sacred custom, that he well nigh fear'd To search it inwards; whence far off appear'd, Through a long pillar'd vista, a fair shrine, And, just beyond, on light tiptoe divine, A quiver'd Dian. He creates images that soothe our senses. In Greek mythology, Endymion is a shepherd beloved by the moon-Goddess Selene. Full in the middle of this pleasantness There stood a marble altar, with a tress Of flowers budded newly; and the dew Had taken fairy phantasies to strew Daisies upon the sacred sward last eve, And so the dawned light in pomp receive.
The daffodils are a welcomed sight among the green thickets, and small streams are nestled in and around forests that flourish around them. Dark, nor light, The region; nor bright, nor sombre wholly, But mingled up; a gleaming melancholy; A dusky empire and its diadems; One faint eternal eventide of gems. Endymion is suffering not only from his love to goddess, but also because looking for the ideal he meets the captivating Indian girl. English Romantic poet John Keats was born on October 31, 1795, in London. There is something very musical about it. Endymios in Greek mythology is a story of a handsome youth who spent much of his life sleeping.
Endymion by John Keats: Summary and Analysis Endymion is A Poetic Romance, Keats's first major work, was published in 1818 and it is considered as one of the masterpieces of the early nineteenth-century Romantic movement in English literature. His poor temples beat To the very tune of love — how sweet, sweet, sweet. From thy blue throne, now filling all the air, Glance but one little beam of temper'd light Into my bosom, that the dreadful might And tyranny of love be somewhat scar'd! There is a shortage of noble qualities and men continue to be evil and unhealthy. The woes of Troy, towers smothering o'er their blaze, Stiff-holden shields, far-piercing spears, keen blades, Struggling, and blood, and shrieks — all dimly fades Into some backward corner of the brain; Yet, in our very souls, we feel amain The close of Troilus and Cressid sweet. Feeling there was more to life, he left his work as a surgeon to become a poet.
When they in turn pass, it will give joy to the peer group after theirs, and so on. It transforms the onlooker into the beautiful object. There Has it been ever sounding for those ears Whose tips are glowing hot. In the second, amid the rambling and yet breathless course of the story, there comes at last the lovely and lofty comment upon the birth of the Moon legend 828-853 — an offspring of lakeside and forest — and of its first capture by the antique unknown poet. After reading some notes and critiques on it, it became much more interesting. Endymion, meanwhile, is no further with his quest, and story and interpretation alike are checked in the 'deep water-world. A thing of beauty works wonders for man and removes the cover of gloom from his dampened spirits.
Why pierce high-fronted honour to the quick For nothing but a dream? There, when new wonders ceas'd to float before, And thoughts of self came on, how crude and sore The journey homeward to habitual self! This is a thing which stands almost alone in literature, and however imperfectly executed, is worth any closeness and continuity of attention we can give it. Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing A flowery band to bind us to the earth, Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. They are like a medicine of life, a never diminishing source of pleasure and delight, a boundless source of joy that seems to be a precious gift from Heaven. Where soil is men grow, Whether to weeds or flowers; but for me, There is no depth to strike in: I can see Nought earthly worth my compassing; so stand Upon a misty, jutting head of land— Alone? I know, that's really sad. It comes to a full circle as it begins with the experience of the heart and ends with the questioning of the heart.
Another wish'd, mid that eternal spring, To meet his rosy child, with feathery sails, Sweeping, eye-earnestly, through almond vales: Who, suddenly, should stoop through the smooth wind, And with the balmiest leaves his temples bind; And, ever after, through those regions be His messenger, his little Mercury. Even while they brought the burden to a close, A shout from the whole multitude arose, That lingered in the air like dying rolls Of abrupt thunder, when Ionian shoals Of dolphins bob their noses through the brine. If an innocent bird Before my heedless footsteps stirr'd, and stirr'd In little journeys, I beheld in it A disguis'd demon, missioned to knit My soul with under darkness; to entice My stumblings down some monstrous precipice: Therefore I eager followed, and did curse The disappointment. Hast thou sinn'd in aught Offensive to the heavenly powers? The objects of beauty are countless. Or they might watch the quoit-pitchers, intent On either side; pitying the sad death Of Hyacinthus, when the cruel breath Of Zephyr slew him,—Zephyr penitent, Who now, ere Phoebus mounts the firmament, Fondles the flower amid the sobbing rain. Stanza V I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Where with 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.
In the last book the allegory is more insistent and more devious, but it leads at last to the vision of Endymion and Phoebe mated. O meekest dove Of heaven! But woe is me, I am but as a child To gladden thee; and all I dare to say, Is, that I pity thee; that on this day I've been thy guide; that thou must wander far In other regions, past the scanty bar To mortal steps, before thou cans't be ta'en From every wasting sigh, from every pain, Into the gentle bosom of thy love. It is at such depressing moments that a sight full of beauty dispels the pall of sadness from our spirits making room for hope and optimism. Those fitful sighs 'Tis almost death to hear: O let me pour A dewy balm upon them! It seem'd he flew, the way so easy was; And like a new-born spirit did he pass Through the green evening quiet in the sun, O'er many a heath, through many a woodland dun, Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams The summer time away. The poem is divided into four books.
How sickening, how dark the dreadful leisure Of weary days, made deeper exquisite, By a fore-knowledge of unslumbrous night!. Stanza I describes the poet's excitement as he listens to the song of a nightingale. Several traditions say that he was offered by Zeus to choose anything he might desire and Endymionin order to remain young forever chose an everlasting sleep. On another level, the question may relate to the poet's perception of the nightingale as a symbol of permanence. How a ring-dove Let fall a sprig of yew tree in his path; And how he died: and then, that love doth scathe, The gentle heart, as northern blasts do roses; And then the ballad of his sad life closes With sighs, and an alas! His sister, Peona, takes him away and brings him to her resting place where he sleeps. 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.
It is beautiful and lyrical, if a bit long. So once more days and nights aid me along, Like legion'd soldiers. O that I Were rippling round her dainty fairness now, Circling about her waist, and striving how To entice her to a dive! Stay, stay thy weary course, and let me lead, A happy wooer, to the flowery mead Where all that beauty snar'd me. Overhead, Hung a lush screen of drooping weeds, and spread Thick, as to curtain up some wood-nymph's home. The memory of beautiful experiences helps us to bear our sorrows.