Keats,
an early 19th
century British poet, writes in his 1819 poem “Ode on
Indolence” as a discourse on human laziness versus human
glories. Ultimately, the subject of the poet yield himself to summer
day’s laziness rather than ambition, love, or even Poetry. In
the first stanza, One morning has a vision of three figures. Their
heads are down, their hands are joined They walked behind each other
In sandals and white robes. They reappear each time they pass, as if
on a turning vase.
In
the second stanza, Keats asks how it is that he didn’t
recognize them at first and whether they had a dark plot to sneak up
on him. He wonders if they have come to take his life and purpose in
life. He describes his summer laziness and how it made him idle and
careless and rather numb. He asks the figures why they won’t
melt away and leave him to his indolence.
The
figures come a third time and as they pass this time they turn, each,
to look at him and he feels a burning to follow then and wishes he
had wings to follow. He longs for this because he has recognized
them. The first maiden he identifies as Love, the second as Ambition,
and the third as the one he loves most, the dominant, demanding
spirit of Posey, or Poetry. Interestingly, he describes the maiden of
poetry as a demon
The
maidens fade from his view, and he again wishes he could follow. He
longs so bad that the aching for wings is again used. He recognizes
the error and stupidity of this desire, and states that love is
fickle and unobtainable, ambition is short lived, and poetry is not
joyful compared to the laziness of his days of laziness. He tells how
lovely it is not to have to worry about the passing days or even of
using common sense
In the
fifth stanza Keats tells of the third time they passed by and how he
had been enjoying a deep sleep and his soul was like a flowered laden
lawn. The day was cloudy, but without rain. He tells the visitors it
is time to leave, and it will be no sorrow for him for them to leave
The
final stanza host Keats bidding the spirits farewell, while his head
is pillowed in the grass. He tells them to fade softly from his eyes,
and return to the non-descript images on the side of a vase. He bids
them farewell happily, looking forward to the dreams he will have the
rest of the day and night. Knowing love, ambition, or poetry are not
enough to rouse him, he bids them goodbye and asks them to leave him
evermore to his lazy indolence.
One morn before me were three figures seen,
I
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.
How is it,
Shadows! that I knew ye not?
How
came ye muffled in so hush a masque?
Was it a
silent deep-disguised 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?
A third
time pass'd they by, and, passing, turn'd
Each
one the face a moment whiles to me;
Then
faded, and to follow them I burn'd
And
ached for wings, because I knew the three;
The first
was a fair maid, and Love her name;
The
second was Ambition, pale of cheek,
And
ever watchful with fatigued eye;
The last,
whom I love more, the more of blame
Is
heap'd upon her, maiden most unmeek,---
I
knew to be my demon Poesy.
They
faded, and, forsooth! I wanted wings:
O
folly! What is Love! and where is it?
And for
that poor Ambition---it springs
From
a man's little heart's short fever-fit;
For
Poesy!---no,---she has not a joy,---
At
least for me,---so sweet as drowsy noons,
And
evenings steep'd in honied indolence;
O, for an
age so shelter'd from annoy,
That
I may never know how change the moons,
Or
hear the voice of busy common-sense!
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-leaved 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.
So, ye
three Ghosts, adieu! Ye cannot raise
My
head cool-bedded in the flowery grass;
For I
would not be dieted with praise,
A
pet-lamb in a sentimental farce!
Fade sofdy
from my eyes, and be once more
In
masque-like figures on the dreamy urn;
Farewell!
I yet have visions for the night,
And for
the day faint visions there is store;
Vanish,
ye Phantoms! from my idle spright,
Into the
clouds, and never more return!
In the first stanza, One morning has
a vision of three figures. Their heads are down, their hands are
joined They walked behind each other In sandals and white robes.
They reappear each time they pass, as if on a turning vase.
In the second stanza, Keats asks how it is that
he didn’t recognize them at first and whether they had a dark
plot to sneak up on him.
He wonders if they have come to take his life and
purpose in life. He describes his summer laziness and how it made
him idle and careless and rather numb. He asks the figures why they
won’t melt away and leave him to his indolence.
The figures come a third time and as they pass this
time they turn, each, to look at him and he feels a burning to
follow then and wishes he had wings to follow. He longs for this
because he has recognized them. The first maiden he identifies as
Love, the second as Ambition, and the third as the one he loves
most, the dominant, demanding spirit of Poetry. Interestingly, he
describes the maiden of poetry as a demon
The maidens fade from his view, and
he again wishes he could follow. He longs so bad that the aching for
wings is again used. He recognizes the error and stupidity of this
desire, and states that love is fickle and unobtainable, ambition is
short lived, and poetry is not joyful compared to the laziness of
his days of laziness. He tells how lovely it is not to have to worry
about the passing days or even of using common sense
In the fifth stanza Keats tells of
the third time they passed by and how he had been enjoying a deep
sleep and his soul was like a flowered laden lawn. The day was
cloudy, but without rain. He tells the visitors it is time to leave,
and it will be no sorrow for him for them to leave
The final stanza host Keats bidding
the spirits farewell, while his head is pillowed in the grass. He
tells them to fade softly from his eyes, and return to the
non-descript images on the side of a vase. He bids them farewell
happily, looking forward to the dreams he will have the rest of the
day and night. Knowing love, ambition, or poetry are not enough to
rouse him, he bids them goodbye and asks them to leave him evermore
to his lazy indolence.
