[Poem] ODE ON INDOLENCE - A Brief Exploration of Keats’s Struggle with Desire and Idleness

Ode on Indolence
By John Keats (1819)

[Stanza 1]

One morn before me were three figures seen,

With bowed necks, and joined hands, side-faced;

And one behind the other stepp'd serene,

In placid sandals, and in white robes graced;

They pass'd, like figures on a marble urn,

When shifted round to see the other side;

They came again; as when the urn once more

Is shifted round, the first seen shades return;

And they were strange to me, as may betide

With vases, to one deep in Phidian lore.

[Stanza 2]

How is it, Shadows! that I knew ye not?

How came ye muffled in so hush a mask?

Was it a silent deep-disguisèd plot

To steal away, and leave without a task

My idle days? Ripe was the drowsy hour;

The blissful cloud of summer-indolence

Benumb'd my eyes; my pulse grew less and less;

Pain had no sting, and pleasure's wreath no flower:

O, why did ye not melt, and leave my sense

Unhaunted quite of all but—nothingness?

[Stanza 3]

A third time came they by;—alas! wherefore?

My sleep had been embroider'd with dim dreams;

My soul had been a lawn besprinkled o'er

With flowers, and stirring shades, and baffled beams;

The morn was clouded, but no shower fell,

Though in her lids hung the sweet tears of May;

The open casement press'd a new-leav'd vine,

Let in the budding warmth and throstle's lay;

O Shadows! 'twas a time to bid farewell!

Upon your skirts had fallen no tears of mine.

[Stanza 4]

A fourth time came they by—alas! enough!

I trembled at the whiteness of their robes;

And, at the fragrance of their silent breath;

And, at the shining of their crescent globes;

It was a vision of the faded sheen

On slumber's light in watery clearness seen;

My eyelids open'd, but they would not part;

They pass'd, like figures on a marble urn,

When shifted round to see the other side;

They came again, and pass'd, and pass'd again,

And up and down, as when the urn once more

Is shifted round, the first seen shades return.

[Stanza 5]

And, still they were the same, three shadows tall:

I took their fingers in mine own to feel—

If they were human, for I might recall

A faint and painful pulse, but that was all.

'Why did ye not melt and leave me free?'

I cried; 'why must I linger in this dark,

Curst spot of soul, like the widow'd Dido's groves?'

Nor answer came there, nor a pleasant spark

Of recognition, nor a whispered gentle talk,

Nor any passion mov'd them in the least.

[Stanza 6]

Then I address'd them: 'But your rites I owe;

Hence, shadows! hence, unknown, uninvited!

Hence shadows, dallying spirit or enchanter!

Begone, with all your measur'd monotony!

I have been half in love with easeful Death,

And half with the strong dark wine of sloth,

Kissing illusions, languid fancy shapes;

But all is over—why linger ye so loth?

Hence, shadows! vanish with the parted shapes

Of earlier weft to my untaskèd mind!'

[Stanza 7]

Sudden, a movement from the dais'd air came,

An impetus from some bright moment of joy;

I started up, and tremblingly look'd round,

And tried to catch the fleeting lights that fly;

But vanished were the shapes of Love and Fame,

And the third shape—O, curst uncertain shade!

In youth and health so sweet—yet, in the gloom

When one might lust for action, it doth fade!

Farewell! I see ye not—the sky grows bright—

It is that ever-lingering hush of noon,

One noon in bright mid-summer that must end.

Already shadows lengthen on the ground—

O, for a draught of that oblivious wine,

That I might dream again these shadows mine!

—End of poem