Poem by John Keats

On Seeing the Elgin Marbles

My spirit is too weak--mortality
Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep,
And each imagin'd 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 undescribable 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.

1. What the Thrush Said
2. Written in Answer to a Sonnet by J.H. Reynolds
3. To a Lady Seen for a Few Moments at Vauxhall
4. Song (“The stranger lighted from his steed”)
5. Song of Four Faries

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