Podcasts about singest

Dalton Key - “I'll Fly Away”

Dalton Key – A biblical look at the songs, “Let the Lower Lights Be Burning” and “Send the Light”.

Dalton Key

Description: An immersive reading of excerpts from Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats with reflection on tuberculosis and the good death. Website:https://anauscultation.wordpress.com/ Work:Ode to a Nightingaleby John KeatsMy heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains         My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains         One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,         But being too happy in thine happiness,—                That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees                        In some melodious plot         Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,                Singest of summer in full-throated ease. O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been         Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,Tasting of Flora and the country green,         Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth![…]         That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,                And with thee fade away into the forest dim: Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget         What thou among the leaves hast never known,The weariness, the fever, and the fret         Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,         Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;[…] Away! away! for I will fly to thee,         Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,But on the viewless wings of Poesy,[…] Darkling I listen; and, for many a time         I have been half in love with easeful Death,Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,         To take into the air my quiet breath;                Now more than ever seems it rich to die,         To cease upon the midnight with no pain,                While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad                        In such an ecstasy!         Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—                   To thy high requiem become a sod. Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!         No hungry generations tread thee down;ReferencesOde to a Nightingale: https://poets.org/poem/ode-nightingale  John Keats: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/john-keats Nightingale song: Digweed1 https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/87/Common_Nightingale%27s_song_1.ogg  Riva, M. From milk to rifampicin and back again: history of failures and successes in the treatment for tuberculosis. J Antibiot 67, 661–665 (2014). Sanderson C, Miller-Lewis L, Rawlings D, Parker D, Tieman J. "I want to die in my sleep"-how people think about death, choice, and control: findings from a Massive Open Online Course.

In this eighth season of The Well Read Poem, we are reading six poems about birds. Since antiquity, birds have supplied rich material to poets, being by turns regal, charming, absurd, delicate, dangerous, and philosophical creatures. This season is dedicated to the animal lovers in our audience, particularly to Emily Raible who suggested the subject in the first place. Today's poem is "Ode to a Nightingale" by John Keats. Poem begins at timestamp 2:23. "Ode to a Nightingale" by John Keats My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains          My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains          One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,          But being too happy in thine happiness,—                 That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees                         In some melodious plot          Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,                 Singest of summer in full-throated ease.   O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been          Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green,          Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South,          Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,                 With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,                         And purple-stained mouth;          That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,                 And with thee fade away into the forest dim:   Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget          What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret          Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,          Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;                 Where but to think is to be full of sorrow                         And leaden-eyed despairs,          Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,                 Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.   Away! away! for I will fly to thee,          Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy,          Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee! tender is the night,          And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,                 Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;                         But here there is no light,          Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown                 Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.   I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,          Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet          Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;          White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;                 Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;                         And mid-May's eldest child,          The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,                 The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.   Darkling I listen; and, for many a time          I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,          To take into the air my quiet breath;                 Now more than ever seems it rich to die,          To cease upon the midnight with no pain,                 While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad                         In such an ecstasy!          Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—                    To thy high requiem become a sod.   Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!          No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard          In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path          Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,                 She stood in tears amid the alien corn;                         The same that oft-times hath          Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam                 Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.   Forlorn! the very word is like a bell          To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well          As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades          Past the near meadows, over the still stream,                 Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep                         In the next valley-glades:          Was it a vision, or a waking dream?                 Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?

》》》》》》》》一键领取入口《《《《《《《为你读英语美文 · 第371期 《夜莺颂》主播：Wilson坐标：成都Ode to a Nightingale《夜莺颂》作者：John Keats，译者：屠岸IMy heart aches, and a drowsy numbness painsMy sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,Or emptied some dull opiate to the drainsOne minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,But being too happy in thine happiness,That thou, light-wingèd Dryad of the trees,In some melodious plotOf beechen green, and shadows numberless,Singest of summer in full-throated ease.我的心疼痛，困倦和麻木使神经痛楚，仿佛我啜饮了毒汁满杯，或者吞服了鸦片，一点不剩，一会儿，我就沉入了忘川河水：并不是嫉妒你那幸福的命运，是你的欢乐使我过分地欣喜——想到你呀，轻翼的林中天仙，你让悠扬的乐音充盈在山毛榉的一片葱茏和浓荫里，你放开嗓门，尽情地歌唱着夏天。IIO, for a draught of vintage! that hath beenCool'd a long age in the deep-delvèd earth,Tasting of Flora and the country-green,Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!O for a beaker full of the warm South!Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,And purple-stainèd mouth;That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,And with thee fade away into the forest dim:哦，来一口葡萄美酒吧！来一口长期在深深的地窖里冷藏的佳酿！尝一口，就想到花神，田野绿油油，舞蹈，歌人的吟唱，欢乐的骄阳！来一大杯吧，盛满了南方的温热，盛满了诗神的泉水，鲜红，清冽，还有泡沫在杯沿闪烁如珍珠，把杯口也染成紫色；我要痛饮呵，再悄悄离开这世界，同你一起隐入那幽深的林木：IIIFade far away, dissolve, and quite forgetWhat thou among the leaves hast never known,The weariness, the fever, and the fretHere, where men sit and hear each other groan;Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs,Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;Where but to think is to be full of sorrowAnd leaden-eyed despairs;Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.远远地隐去，消失，完全忘掉你在绿叶里永不知晓的事情，忘掉世上的疲倦，热病，烦躁，这里，人们对坐着互相听呻吟，瘫痪者颤动着几根灰白的发丝，青春渐渐地苍白，瘦削，死亡；这里，只要想一想就发愁，伤悲，绝望中两眼呆滞；这里，美人保不住慧眼的光芒，新生的爱情顷刻间就为之憔悴。IVAway! away! for I will fly to thee,Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,But on the viewless wings of Poesy,Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:Already with thee! tender is the night,And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;But here there is no light,Save what from heaven is with the breezes blownThrough verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.去吧！去吧！我要向着你飞去，不是伴酒神乘虎豹的车驾驰骋，尽管迟钝的脑子困惑，犹豫，我已凭诗神无形的羽翼登程：已经跟你在一起了！夜这样柔美，恰好月亮皇后登上了宝座，群星仙子把她拥戴在中央；但这里是一片幽晦，只有微风吹过朦胧的绿色和曲折的苔径才带来一线天光。VI cannot see what flowers are at my feet,Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,But, in embalmèd darkness, guess each sweetWherewith the seasonable month endowsThe grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;Fast-fading violets cover'd up in leaves;And mid-May's eldest child,The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.我这里看不见脚下有什么鲜花，看不见枝头挂什么温馨的嫩蕊，只是在暗香里猜想每一朵奇葩，猜想这时令怎样把千娇百媚赐给草地，林莽，野生的果树枝；那白色山楂花，开放在牧野的蔷薇；隐藏在绿叶丛中易凋的紫罗兰；那五月中旬的爱子——盛满了露制醇醪的麝香玫瑰，夏夜的蚊蝇在这里嗡嗡盘桓。VIDarkling I listen; and, for many a timeI have been half in love with easeful Death,Call'd him soft names in many a musèd rhyme,To take into the air my quiet breath;Now more than ever seems it rich to die,To cease upon the midnight with no pain,While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroadIn such an ecstasy!Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—To thy high requiem become a sod.我在黑暗里谛听着；已经多少次几乎堕入了死神安谧的爱情，我用深思的诗韵唤他的名字，请他把我这口气化入空明；此刻呵，无上的幸福是停止呼吸，趁这午夜，安详地向人世告别，而你呵，正在把你的精魂倾吐，如此地心醉神迷！你永远唱着，我已经失去听觉——你唱安魂歌，我已经变成了一堆土。VIIThou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!No hungry generations tread thee down;The voice I hear this passing night was heardIn ancient days by emperor and clown:Perhaps the self-same song that found a pathThrough the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,She stood in tears amid the alien corn;The same that oft-times hathCharm'd magic casements, opening on the foamOf perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.你永远不会死去，不朽的精禽！饥馑的世纪也未能使你屈服；我今天夜里一度听见的歌音在往古时代打动过皇帝和村夫：恐怕这同样的歌声也曾经促使路得流泪，她满怀忧伤站在异地的麦田里，一心思念着家邦；这歌声还曾多少次迷醉了窗里人，她开窗面对大海险恶的浪涛，在那失落的仙乡。VIIIForlorn! the very word is like a bellTo toll me back from thee to my sole self!Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so wellAs she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fadesPast the near meadows, over the still stream,Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deepIn the next valley-glades:Was it a vision, or a waking dream?Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep?失落！呵，这字眼像钟声一敲，催我离开你，回复孤寂的自己！再见！幻想这个骗人的小妖，徒有虚名，再不能使人着迷。再见！再见！你哀怨的歌声远去，流过了草地，越过了静静的溪水，飘上了山腰，如今已深深地埋湮在附近的密林幽谷：这是幻象？还是醒时的梦寐？音乐远去了：——我醒着，还是在酣眠？▎诗歌赏析陈庆勋：有人称济慈为“感觉主义者”，这不无道理。一般诗人的敏锐的感觉能力主要在视觉和听觉方面，而济慈却是全面发展。如《夜莺颂》的前面两节，他从夜莺的欢快的歌声想起了它的歌喉，由歌喉想起了美酒，由美酒想起了“绿色之邦”，想起“花神、恋歌、阳光和舞蹈”，想起了“灵感之泉”……何等敏锐的感觉系统。音乐家的耳朵、画家的眼睛、美食家的舌头等诸多感觉无不汇集到了一起。但是由此而仅仅称济慈为“感觉主义者”又容易引起误解，也不能说明这首诗的全部特征。他的感觉和夜莺的歌一样，只是诗的触发点，更重要的还在于他那无比丰富的想像力，也只有借助这种想像力，才能由某一感观印象而引发无数的意象源源而来。这些丰富的意象反过来又将夜莺的歌声掩盖住了，从第二节到第五节再也没有听到它的欢歌，而是完全沉浸在诗人由想像而来的各种意象里。这首诗的中心意象是一对矛盾，即夜莺所代表的想像世界与诗人所处的现实世界的矛盾。想像世界中处处是音乐、美酒、朦胧光影下的宁静，而现实世界则处处是焦躁、病痛和不安。但是苦与乐又是一个统一体。这种思想的内涵就是说一个人身处不确知的、神秘的、有疑问的环境中而能安之若素，不急于探究事实和理由，而是将自我化人事物之中，彻悟宇宙的奥秘，从而创造出诗的真与美来。也就是说，通过感官感受到的苦与乐必须经过一番想像与提炼，才能达到出神入化的诗的境界。▎主播介绍Wilson: 毕业于北京语言大学，现居成都，个人公众号：Wilson英音范后期，编辑：永清▎节目首发，背景音乐，图文资料，更多推送敬请关注微信公众号：为你读英语美文，ID：readenglishforyou

》》》》》》》》一键领取入口《《《《《《《为你读英语美文 · 第371期 《夜莺颂》主播：Wilson坐标：成都Ode to a Nightingale《夜莺颂》作者：John Keats，译者：屠岸IMy heart aches, and a drowsy numbness painsMy sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,Or emptied some dull opiate to the drainsOne minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,But being too happy in thine happiness,That thou, light-wingèd Dryad of the trees,In some melodious plotOf beechen green, and shadows numberless,Singest of summer in full-throated ease.我的心疼痛，困倦和麻木使神经痛楚，仿佛我啜饮了毒汁满杯，或者吞服了鸦片，一点不剩，一会儿，我就沉入了忘川河水：并不是嫉妒你那幸福的命运，是你的欢乐使我过分地欣喜——想到你呀，轻翼的林中天仙，你让悠扬的乐音充盈在山毛榉的一片葱茏和浓荫里，你放开嗓门，尽情地歌唱着夏天。IIO, for a draught of vintage! that hath beenCool'd a long age in the deep-delvèd earth,Tasting of Flora and the country-green,Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!O for a beaker full of the warm South!Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,And purple-stainèd mouth;That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,And with thee fade away into the forest dim:哦，来一口葡萄美酒吧！来一口长期在深深的地窖里冷藏的佳酿！尝一口，就想到花神，田野绿油油，舞蹈，歌人的吟唱，欢乐的骄阳！来一大杯吧，盛满了南方的温热，盛满了诗神的泉水，鲜红，清冽，还有泡沫在杯沿闪烁如珍珠，把杯口也染成紫色；我要痛饮呵，再悄悄离开这世界，同你一起隐入那幽深的林木：IIIFade far away, dissolve, and quite forgetWhat thou among the leaves hast never known,The weariness, the fever, and the fretHere, where men sit and hear each other groan;Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs,Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;Where but to think is to be full of sorrowAnd leaden-eyed despairs;Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.远远地隐去，消失，完全忘掉你在绿叶里永不知晓的事情，忘掉世上的疲倦，热病，烦躁，这里，人们对坐着互相听呻吟，瘫痪者颤动着几根灰白的发丝，青春渐渐地苍白，瘦削，死亡；这里，只要想一想就发愁，伤悲，绝望中两眼呆滞；这里，美人保不住慧眼的光芒，新生的爱情顷刻间就为之憔悴。IVAway! away! for I will fly to thee,Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,But on the viewless wings of Poesy,Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:Already with thee! tender is the night,And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;But here there is no light,Save what from heaven is with the breezes blownThrough verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.去吧！去吧！我要向着你飞去，不是伴酒神乘虎豹的车驾驰骋，尽管迟钝的脑子困惑，犹豫，我已凭诗神无形的羽翼登程：已经跟你在一起了！夜这样柔美，恰好月亮皇后登上了宝座，群星仙子把她拥戴在中央；但这里是一片幽晦，只有微风吹过朦胧的绿色和曲折的苔径才带来一线天光。VI cannot see what flowers are at my feet,Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,But, in embalmèd darkness, guess each sweetWherewith the seasonable month endowsThe grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;Fast-fading violets cover'd up in leaves;And mid-May's eldest child,The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.我这里看不见脚下有什么鲜花，看不见枝头挂什么温馨的嫩蕊，只是在暗香里猜想每一朵奇葩，猜想这时令怎样把千娇百媚赐给草地，林莽，野生的果树枝；那白色山楂花，开放在牧野的蔷薇；隐藏在绿叶丛中易凋的紫罗兰；那五月中旬的爱子——盛满了露制醇醪的麝香玫瑰，夏夜的蚊蝇在这里嗡嗡盘桓。VIDarkling I listen; and, for many a timeI have been half in love with easeful Death,Call'd him soft names in many a musèd rhyme,To take into the air my quiet breath;Now more than ever seems it rich to die,To cease upon the midnight with no pain,While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroadIn such an ecstasy!Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—To thy high requiem become a sod.我在黑暗里谛听着；已经多少次几乎堕入了死神安谧的爱情，我用深思的诗韵唤他的名字，请他把我这口气化入空明；此刻呵，无上的幸福是停止呼吸，趁这午夜，安详地向人世告别，而你呵，正在把你的精魂倾吐，如此地心醉神迷！你永远唱着，我已经失去听觉——你唱安魂歌，我已经变成了一堆土。VIIThou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!No hungry generations tread thee down;The voice I hear this passing night was heardIn ancient days by emperor and clown:Perhaps the self-same song that found a pathThrough the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,She stood in tears amid the alien corn;The same that oft-times hathCharm'd magic casements, opening on the foamOf perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.你永远不会死去，不朽的精禽！饥馑的世纪也未能使你屈服；我今天夜里一度听见的歌音在往古时代打动过皇帝和村夫：恐怕这同样的歌声也曾经促使路得流泪，她满怀忧伤站在异地的麦田里，一心思念着家邦；这歌声还曾多少次迷醉了窗里人，她开窗面对大海险恶的浪涛，在那失落的仙乡。VIIIForlorn! the very word is like a bellTo toll me back from thee to my sole self!Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so wellAs she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fadesPast the near meadows, over the still stream,Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deepIn the next valley-glades:Was it a vision, or a waking dream?Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep?失落！呵，这字眼像钟声一敲，催我离开你，回复孤寂的自己！再见！幻想这个骗人的小妖，徒有虚名，再不能使人着迷。再见！再见！你哀怨的歌声远去，流过了草地，越过了静静的溪水，飘上了山腰，如今已深深地埋湮在附近的密林幽谷：这是幻象？还是醒时的梦寐？音乐远去了：——我醒着，还是在酣眠？▎诗歌赏析陈庆勋：有人称济慈为“感觉主义者”，这不无道理。一般诗人的敏锐的感觉能力主要在视觉和听觉方面，而济慈却是全面发展。如《夜莺颂》的前面两节，他从夜莺的欢快的歌声想起了它的歌喉，由歌喉想起了美酒，由美酒想起了“绿色之邦”，想起“花神、恋歌、阳光和舞蹈”，想起了“灵感之泉”……何等敏锐的感觉系统。音乐家的耳朵、画家的眼睛、美食家的舌头等诸多感觉无不汇集到了一起。但是由此而仅仅称济慈为“感觉主义者”又容易引起误解，也不能说明这首诗的全部特征。他的感觉和夜莺的歌一样，只是诗的触发点，更重要的还在于他那无比丰富的想像力，也只有借助这种想像力，才能由某一感观印象而引发无数的意象源源而来。这些丰富的意象反过来又将夜莺的歌声掩盖住了，从第二节到第五节再也没有听到它的欢歌，而是完全沉浸在诗人由想像而来的各种意象里。这首诗的中心意象是一对矛盾，即夜莺所代表的想像世界与诗人所处的现实世界的矛盾。想像世界中处处是音乐、美酒、朦胧光影下的宁静，而现实世界则处处是焦躁、病痛和不安。但是苦与乐又是一个统一体。这种思想的内涵就是说一个人身处不确知的、神秘的、有疑问的环境中而能安之若素，不急于探究事实和理由，而是将自我化人事物之中，彻悟宇宙的奥秘，从而创造出诗的真与美来。也就是说，通过感官感受到的苦与乐必须经过一番想像与提炼，才能达到出神入化的诗的境界。▎主播介绍Wilson: 毕业于北京语言大学，现居成都，个人公众号：Wilson英音范后期，编辑：永清▎节目首发，背景音乐，图文资料，更多推送敬请关注微信公众号：为你读英语美文，ID：readenglishforyou

Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness,— That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease. O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim: Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs, Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves; And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain— To thy high requiem become a sod. Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains 我的心痛，困顿和麻木 毒害了感官，犹如饮过毒鸩， 又似刚把鸦片吞服， One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness, 一分钟的时间，字句在忘川中沉没 并不是在嫉妒你的幸运， -- 是为着你的幸运而大感快乐， That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, 你，林间轻翅的精灵， 在山毛榉绿影下的情结中， 你躲进山毛榉的葱绿和荫影， Singest of summer in full-throated ease. O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, 放开了歌喉，歌唱夏季。 哎，一口酒！那冷藏 在地下多年的甘醇， ...

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains, My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, 我的心在痛，困顿和麻木，刺激着我的感觉， Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains, One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 有如喝下毒汁，又好似刚刚吞服鸦片，向着遗忘河下沉； Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness. 不是我嫉妒你的好运，而是你的幸福使我快乐。 That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot, Of beeches green, 而你，是林间的精灵，扑闪轻轻的翅膀，悠扬曲调中 and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease. ，山毛榉的绿荫，遮蔽了万物，放开歌喉，歌唱夏天。 O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been, Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, 哦，让我们来一杯酒！那冷藏在地底深处多年的甘醇， Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth! 品闻花神的芬...

"Ode To A Nightingale" John Keats My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness,-- That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease. O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs, Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves; And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain-- To thy high requiem become a sod. Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:--Do I wake or sleep?

J Keats read by Classic Poetry Aloud: Giving voice to the poetry of the past. www.classicpoetryaloud.com -------------------------------------------- Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats. (1795–1821) My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness, That thou, light-wingèd Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease. O for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delvèd earth, Tasting of Flora and the country-green, Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South! Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stainèd mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim: Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs; Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmèd darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; Fast-fading violets cover'd up in leaves; And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a musèd rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain— To thy high requiem become a sod. Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that ofttimes hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep? First aired: 7 February 2009 For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2009