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Sunday, February 20, 2005
from Ode to Apollo
John Keats
In thy western halls of gold
When thous sittest in thy state,
Bards, that erst sublimely told
Heroic deeds, and sung of fate,
With fervour seize their adamantine lyres,
Whose chords are solid rays, and twinkle radiant fires.
There Homer with his nervous arms
Strikes the twanging harp of war,
And even the western splendour warms,
While the trumpets sound afar:
But, what creates the most intense surprise,
His soul looks out through renovated eyes.
posted by gbarto at 9:53 PM
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