Hyperion by John Keats

Hyperion by John Keats. Unfinished but a magnificent fragment.

Deep in the shady sadness of a vale
Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn,
Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star,
Sat gray-hair'd Saturn, quiet as a stone,
Still as the silence round about his lair;
Forest on forest hung about his head
Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there,
Not so much life as on a summer's day
Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass,
But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.
A stream went voiceless by, still deadened more
By reason of his fallen divinity
Spreading a shade: the Naiad 'mid her reeds
Press'd her cold finger closer to her lips.

Along the margin-sand large foot-marks went,
No further than to where his feet had stray'd,
And slept there since. Upon the sodden ground
His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead,
Unsceptred; and his realmless eyes were closed;
While his bow'd head seem'd list'ning to the Earth,
His ancient mother, for some comfort yet.

It seem'd no force could wake him from his place;
But there came one, who with a kindred hand
Touch'd his wide shoulders, after bending low
With reverence, though to one who knew it not.
She was a Goddess of the infant world;
By her in stature the tall Amazon
Had stood a pigmy's height; she would have ta'en
Achilles by the hair and bent his neck;
Or with a finger stay'd Ixion's wheel.
Her face was large as that of Memphian sphinx,
Pedestal'd haply in a palace court,
When sages look'd to Egypt for their lore.
But oh! how unlike marble was that face:
How beautiful, if sorrow had not made
Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
There was a listening fear in her regard,
As if calamity had but begun;
As if the vanward clouds of evil days
Had spent their malice, and the sullen rear
Was with its stored thunder labouring up.
One hand she press'd upon that aching spot
Where beats the human heart, as if just there,
Though an immortal, she felt cruel pain:
The other upon Saturn's bended neck
She laid, and to the level of his ear
Leaning with parted lips, some words she spake
In solemn tenour and deep organ tone:
Some mourning words, which in our feeble tongue
Would come in these like accents; O how frail
To that large utterance of the early Gods!
"Saturn, look up!--though wherefore, poor old King?
I have no comfort for thee, no not one:
I cannot say, "O wherefore sleepest thou?"
For heaven is parted from thee, and the earth
Knows thee not, thus afflicted, for a God;
And ocean too, with all its solemn noise,
Has from thy sceptre pass'd; and all the air
Is emptied of thine hoary majesty.
Thy thunder, conscious of the new command,
Rumbles reluctant o'er our fallen house;
And thy sharp lightning in unpractis'd hands
Scorches and burns our once serene domain.
O aching time! O moments big as years!
All as ye pass swell out the monstrous truth,
And press it so upon our weary griefs
That unbelief has not a space to breathe.
Saturn, sleep on:--O thoughtless, why did I
Thus violate thy slumbrous solitude?
Why should I ope thy melancholy eyes?
Saturn, sleep on! while at thy feet I weep."

As when, upon a tranced summer-night,
Those green-rob'd senators of mighty woods,
Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars,
Dream, and so dream all night without a stir,
Save from one gradual solitary gust
Which comes upon the silence, and dies off,
As if the ebbing air had but one wave;
So came these words and went; the while in tears
She touch'd her fair large forehead to the ground,
Just where her falling hair might be outspread
A soft and silken mat for Saturn's feet.

Category:

Howto & Style

Tags:

• Hyperion
• John
• Keats
• Charles
• Bryant
• English
• RomanticPoetry
• Spoken
• Word

[britneyspeared]

You definitely have a gift of oration: your voice is just as singing as it should be, not too much like a lot of people think poetry should be read.

It's exactly how I would have wanted it to be.

Being French, I don't get all the imagery of this poem, though I've been living in the UK for a couple of years. But the least I can really understand is still amazing. I can't wait to understand it for what it is - if that's possible with poetry ;)

Great poem, great reading :)

[brychar66]

Many thanks for the flattering comments :)

[xiangyik]

amazing recording. your reading holds the same intesity as dylan thomas'. beautiful. one of my favourite poems too.

[brychar66]

wow! thanks a lot :)

[VanguardCommunard]

This is how such a poem was meant to be read. You do it great justice. Thank you.

[brychar66]

Thank you too my friend, much appreciated.

[elspoko]

Here lies one who's name was writ in water.

[TheSpiralnotebook]

Sexy, solemn, majestic and divine.

[TheBlindPig1]

Really about eves one star. Father forgive me. Next to her zarathustra. And venus might have taned mighty achiles with her hart, but mighty achiles rode on sparta. my heart is like a medow lark.

[solanaceaesolarium]

a favorite...so nice to find this great work by keats here being read so well. i rather imagine this being read outdoors, somehow though. many smiles to you and carry on...!

[brickwindow26]

I think you hit the nail on the head.

[edmundsampo]

damn, i really wish i could understand and appreciate poetry. I can see this poem is beautiful and clever, but i've no idea why.

His name was writ in water.

[shaunw2307]

Lovely voice. It creates images of sitting by a fireside in a manor house and reading a novel. You have a wonderful gift and thank you for uploading these poetry readings.

[elleOF67]

Do you take requests? I'd love to hear you read "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock."  Your tone and pace, combined with your accent, is so lovely for poetry.