"Ode on a Grecian Urn" by John Keats
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-fringed legend 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 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, unwearièd,
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 its 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.'
First reactions
Keats has quite an imagination. The poem is an ode to the mysteries and tales painted on an urn, apparently of a pair of lovers under a tree and another of a heifer being led to be sacrificed. However, the archaic language make it somewhat difficult for a modern reader to comprehend. This poem is another one to deal with time, after the "Wild Swans at Coole," but this deals with the timeless beauty of an urn rather than the present beauty of nature.
Paraphrase
Still beautiful urn, silent and frozen in time, that has a story better than our own: what myth is painted on you? Is it about gods or humans, , or both, and is it in Tempe or Arcady? Who are these people? Who is the unwilling maiden? What's the chase? What's the escape? What instruments are these? What joy? Heard songs are sweet, but silent ones are better. So, painted instruments, play on, not for the ear but for the spirit. Young people beneath the tree, your song will continue, and the tree leaves will never fall. Lover painted on the urn, you can never kiss despite being so near, but your beloved too will never disappear. You will always love, and she will always be beautiful. Ah, the happy trees that can never shed leaves or leave the Spring, and happy melodist who will never tire and play forever. This love will stay forever, leaving a heart sad and sickened with it, a feverish forehead, and thirst. Who is coming to the sacrifice? What altar, priest, are you leading the young cow to? What city is this, where the people are going to worship this morning? And this town will remain forever silent and empty, without anyone to tell why. Vase from Attica, ornamented with marble men and women, branches and weeds; your silent form makes us think. While this generation will grow old, you will be known to the next, saying, "beauty is truth and truth is beauty, and that is all you know and will ever need to know."
Paraphrase
Still beautiful urn, silent and frozen in time, that has a story better than our own: what myth is painted on you? Is it about gods or humans, , or both, and is it in Tempe or Arcady? Who are these people? Who is the unwilling maiden? What's the chase? What's the escape? What instruments are these? What joy? Heard songs are sweet, but silent ones are better. So, painted instruments, play on, not for the ear but for the spirit. Young people beneath the tree, your song will continue, and the tree leaves will never fall. Lover painted on the urn, you can never kiss despite being so near, but your beloved too will never disappear. You will always love, and she will always be beautiful. Ah, the happy trees that can never shed leaves or leave the Spring, and happy melodist who will never tire and play forever. This love will stay forever, leaving a heart sad and sickened with it, a feverish forehead, and thirst. Who is coming to the sacrifice? What altar, priest, are you leading the young cow to? What city is this, where the people are going to worship this morning? And this town will remain forever silent and empty, without anyone to tell why. Vase from Attica, ornamented with marble men and women, branches and weeds; your silent form makes us think. While this generation will grow old, you will be known to the next, saying, "beauty is truth and truth is beauty, and that is all you know and will ever need to know."
SWIFTT
SW – Keats uses archaic language, probably even by the standards of his time. Structurally, there is some end-line rhyming, but there doesn't seem to be any pattern to it. Notably, he speaks in the second-person to the urn, as if speaking to it directly.
I – The two main images are of the scenes depicted on the urn, the first being a couple under a tree and the second being an empty town going to sacrifice a cow. Keats emphasizes the stillness of these images to the viewer, though gives them dynamics within the context of their own stories.
F – The figurative language is focused on the role of the urn as a sort of storyteller, Keats referring to it as a historian, a child, and a bride in its role. The scenes described on the urn are told as if they are dynamic and real, as if the people portrayed were actually just in stasis and experience the scene depicted. Finally, Keats talks of music that is for the spirit, rather than for hearing.
T – The tone is of admiration and curiosity. Keats speculates on the story within the paintings, declaring the timeless beauty of it to be above all else.
T – The poem is mainly about the beauty of the urn, summed up by Keats in the poem itself to be "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all/Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know." The scenes depicted on the poem have truth in the sense that they are authentic and timeless. Art is "a friend of man" across generations.
Conclusions
While the poem is about the urn's beauty, it's more than aesthetics. Keats is more interested in the stories that lie within the urn and their timelessness. It's notable that it is a Grecian urn; Keats might consider that more "authentic" than the art of his time, calling the stories on their urns grater than all "our" rhymes, perhaps critiquing the state of poetry at the time.
