Ode on a Grecian Urn
John Keats
1795 to 1821
Track 1
Reconstruct the poem by dragging each line into its correct position. Your goal is to reassemble the original poem as accurately as possible. As you move the lines, you'll see whether your arrangement is correct, helping you explore the poem's flow and meaning. You can also print out the jumbled poem to cut up and reassemble in the classroom. Either way, take your time, enjoy the process, and discover how the poet's words come together to create something truly beautiful.
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That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
All breathing human passion far above,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty, - "that is all
What little town by river or sea shore,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
For ever panting, and for ever young;
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
When old age shall this generation waste,
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
For ever piping songs for ever new;
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
Of deities or mortals, or of both,