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 sweep
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,
Which mingles Grecian grandeur with the rude
Wasting of old Time--with a billowy main--
A sun--a shadow of a magnitude.
John Keats
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 sweep
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,
Which mingles Grecian grandeur with the rude
Wasting of old Time--with a billowy main--
A sun--a shadow of a magnitude.
John Keats
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