My spirit is too weak; mortality
Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep,
And each imagined pinnacle and steep
Of godlike hardship tells me I must die
Like a sick eagle looking at the sky.
Yet 'tis a gentle luxury to weep,
That I have not the cloudy winds to keep
Fresh for the opening of the morning's eye.
Such dim-conceived glories of the brain
Bring round the heart an indescribable feud;
So do these wonders a most dizzy pain,
That mingles Grecian grandeur with the rude
Wasting of old Time -with a billowy main,
A sun, a shadow of a magnitude.
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Comments2WOW, THIS POEM HITS DIFFERENT! IT LIKE MAKES YOU THINK ABOUT LIFE AND DEATH AND ALL THAT DEEP STUFF. IT MADE ME FEEL SAD AND EXCITED IN A STRANGE WAY. CAN SOMEONE EXPLAIN THO, WHAT DOES THE POET MEAN BY "MINGLING GREEK GRANDEUR WITH THE RUDE WASTING OF OLD TIME"? I REALLY WANNA GET THIS FOR MY HOMEWORK. SMH.
Wow, after reading this poem by John Keats, I'm really feelin' the weight of mortality he talks about. Can't help but tear up a bit at lines like "and each imagined pinnacle and steep of godlike hardship" - Such a powerfull way to express human fragility in contrast with godlike grandeur. Keats sure was something special.