Epistle To John Hamilton Reynolds Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis


Dear Reynolds as last night I lay in bedA
There came before my eyes that wonted threadA
Of shapes and shadows and remembrancesB
That every other minute vex and pleaseC
Things all disjointed come from north and southD
Two witch's eyes above a cherub's mouthD
Voltaire with casque and shield and habergeonE
And Alexander with his nightcap onE
Old Socrates a tying his cravatA
And Hazlitt playing with Miss Edgeworth's catA
And Junius Brutus pretty well so soF
Making the best of's way towards SohoF
Few are there who escape these visitingsF
Perhaps one or two whose lives have patent wingsF
And through whose curtains peeps no hellish noseF
No wild boar tushes and no mermaid's toesF
But flowers bursting out with lusty prideA
And young AEolian harps personifiedA
Some Titian colours touch'd into real lifeG
The sacrifice goes on the pontiff knifeG
Gleams in the sun the milk white heifer lowsF
The pipes go shrilly the libation flowsF
A white sail shows above the green head cliffH
Moves round the point and throws her anchor stiffH
The mariners join hymn with those on landA
You know the Enchanted Castle it doth standA
Upon a rock on the border of a lakeI
Nested in trees which all do seem to shakeI
From some old magic like Urganda's swordA
O Phoebus that I had thy sacred wordA
To show this Castle in fair dreaming wiseF
Unto my friend while sick and ill he liesF
You know it well enough where it doth seemJ
A mossy place a Merlin's Hall a dreamJ
You know the clear lake and the little islesF
The mountains blue and cold near neighbour rillsF
All which elsewhere are but half animateA
Here do they look alive to love and hateA
To smiles and frowns they seem a lifted moundA
Above some giant pulsing undergroundA
Part of the building was a chosen SeeF
Built by a banish'd Santon of ChaldeeA
The other part two thousand years from himK
Was built by Cuthbert de Saint AldebrimK
Then there's a little wing far from the sunE
Built by a Lapland witch turn'd maudlin nunE
And many other juts of aged stoneE
Founded with many a mason devil's groanE
The doors all look as if they op'd themselvesF
The windows as if latch'd by fays and elvesF
And from them comes a silver flash of lightA
As from the westward of a summer's nightA
Or like a beauteous woman's large blue eyesF
Gone mad through olden songs and poesiesF
See what is coming from the distance dimK
A golden galley all in silken trimK
Three rows of oars are lightening moment whilesF
Into the verdurous bosoms of those islesF
Towards the shade under the Castle wallL
It comes in silence now 'tis hidden allL
The clarion sounds and from a postern gateA
An echo of sweet music doth createA
A fear in the poor herdsman who doth bringM
His beasts to trouble the enchanted springM
He tells of the sweet music and the spotA
To all his friends and they believe him notA
O that our dreamings all of sleep or wakeI
Would all their colours from the sunset takeI
From something of material sublimeK
Rather than shadow our own soul's day timeK
In the dark void of night For in the worldA
We jostle but my flag is not unfurl'dA
On the Admiral staff and to philosophizeF
I dare not yet Oh never will the prizeF
High reason and the lore of good and illN
Be my award Things cannot to the willN
Be settled but they tease us out of thoughtA
Or is it that Imagination broughtA
Beyond its proper bound yet still confin'dA
Lost in a sort of Purgatory blindA
Cannot refer to any standard lawO
Of either earth or heaven It is a flawO
In happiness to see beyond our bournE
It forces us in summer skies to mournE
It spoils the singing of the NightingaleP
Dear Reynolds I have a mysterious taleP
And cannot speak it The first page I readA
Upon a lampit rock of green sea weedA
Among the breakers 'twas a quiet eveQ
The rocks were silent the wide sea did weaveQ
An untumultuous fringe of silver foamK
Along the flat brown sand I was at homeK
And should have been most happy but I sawO
Too far into the sea where every mawO
The greater on the less feeds evermoreR
But I saw too distinct into the coreR
Of an eternal fierce destructionE
And so from happiness I far was goneE
Still am I sick of it and though to dayA
I've gather'd young spring leaves and flowers gayA
Of periwinkle and wild strawberryF
Still do I that most fierce destruction seeF
The Shark at savage prey the Hawk at pounceF
The gentle Robin like a Pard or OunceF
Ravening a worm Away ye horrid moodsF
Moods of one's mind You know I hate them wellS
You know I'd sooner be a clapping BellS
To some Kamschatcan Missionary ChurchT
Than with these horrid moods be left i' the lurchT
Do you get health and Tom the same I'll danceF
And from detested moods in new RomanceF
Take refuge Of bad lines a Centaine doseF
Is sure enough and so 'here follows prose '-

John Keats


Poem topics: , Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme

Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation

Write your comment about Epistle To John Hamilton Reynolds poem by John Keats


Recent Interactions*

This poem was read 0 times,

This poem was added to the favorite list by 0 members,

This poem was voted by 0 members.

(* Interactions only in the last 7 days)

New Poems

Popular Poets