This guide explores the first stanzas of the English Romantic poet John Keats's book-length poem Endymion (1818). Beginning with words so famous that they've become proverbial—"A thing of beauty is a joy for ever"—Keats lays out his poetic philosophy. He declares that the beauties of nature and art offer humanity not just a brief holiday from the world's troubles, but lasting consolation, even reason to go on living. That, he explains, is why he's going to tell the lovely story of Endymion, the mythological Greek shepherd who fell in love with the goddess of the moon: to drink from "endless fountain" of beauty that sustains the world, and to try to add a drop to that fountain himself.
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A Poetic Romance
(excerpt)
BOOK I
1A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
2Its loveliness increases; it will never
3Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
4A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
5Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
6Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
7A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
8Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
9Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
10Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
11Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
12Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
13From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
14Trees old, and young sprouting a shady boon
15For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
16With the green world they live in; and clear rills
17That for themselves a cooling covert make
18'Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,
19Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
20And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
21We have imagined for the mighty dead;
22All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
23An endless fountain of immortal drink,
24Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
25Nor do we merely feel these essences
26For one short hour; no, even as the trees
27That whisper round a temple become soon
28Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon,
29The passion poesy, glories infinite,
30Haunt us till they become a cheering light
31Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast,
32That, whether there be shine, or gloom o'ercast,
33They always must be with us, or we die.
34Therefore, 'tis with full happiness that I
35Will trace the story of Endymion.
36The very music of the name has gone
37Into my being, and each pleasant scene
38Is growing fresh before me as the green
39Of our own vallies: so I will begin
40Now while I cannot hear the city's din;
41Now while the early budders are just new,
42And run in mazes of the youngest hue
43About old forests; while the willow trails
44Its delicate amber; and the dairy pails
45Bring home increase of milk. And, as the year
46Grows lush in juicy stalks, I'll smoothly steer
47My little boat, for many quiet hours,
48With streams that deepen freshly into bowers.
49Many and many a verse I hope to write,
50Before the daisies, vermeil rimm'd and white,
51Hide in deep herbage; and ere yet the bees
52Hum about globes of clover and sweet peas,
53I must be near the middle of my story.
54O may no wintry season, bare and hoary,
55See it half finished: but let Autumn bold,
56With universal tinge of sober gold,
57Be all about me when I make an end.
58And now at once, adventuresome, I send
59My herald thought into a wilderness:
60There let its trumpet blow, and quickly dress
61My uncertain path with green, that I may speed
62Easily onward, thorough flowers and weed.
A Poetic Romance
(excerpt)
BOOK I
1A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
2Its loveliness increases; it will never
3Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
4A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
5Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
6Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
7A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
8Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
9Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
10Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
11Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
12Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
13From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
14Trees old, and young sprouting a shady boon
15For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
16With the green world they live in; and clear rills
17That for themselves a cooling covert make
18'Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,
19Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
20And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
21We have imagined for the mighty dead;
22All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
23An endless fountain of immortal drink,
24Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
25Nor do we merely feel these essences
26For one short hour; no, even as the trees
27That whisper round a temple become soon
28Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon,
29The passion poesy, glories infinite,
30Haunt us till they become a cheering light
31Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast,
32That, whether there be shine, or gloom o'ercast,
33They always must be with us, or we die.
34Therefore, 'tis with full happiness that I
35Will trace the story of Endymion.
36The very music of the name has gone
37Into my being, and each pleasant scene
38Is growing fresh before me as the green
39Of our own vallies: so I will begin
40Now while I cannot hear the city's din;
41Now while the early budders are just new,
42And run in mazes of the youngest hue
43About old forests; while the willow trails
44Its delicate amber; and the dairy pails
45Bring home increase of milk. And, as the year
46Grows lush in juicy stalks, I'll smoothly steer
47My little boat, for many quiet hours,
48With streams that deepen freshly into bowers.
49Many and many a verse I hope to write,
50Before the daisies, vermeil rimm'd and white,
51Hide in deep herbage; and ere yet the bees
52Hum about globes of clover and sweet peas,
53I must be near the middle of my story.
54O may no wintry season, bare and hoary,
55See it half finished: but let Autumn bold,
56With universal tinge of sober gold,
57Be all about me when I make an end.
58And now at once, adventuresome, I send
59My herald thought into a wilderness:
60There let its trumpet blow, and quickly dress
61My uncertain path with green, that I may speed
62Easily onward, thorough flowers and weed.
A Poetic Romance
(excerpt)
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits.
Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old, and young sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
Nor do we merely feel these essences
For one short hour; no, even as the trees
That whisper round a temple become soon
Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon,
The passion poesy, glories infinite,
Haunt us till they become a cheering light
Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast,
That, whether there be shine, or gloom o'ercast,
They always must be with us, or we die.
Therefore, 'tis with full happiness that I
Will trace the story of Endymion.
The very music of the name has gone
Into my being, and each pleasant scene
Is growing fresh before me as the green
Of our own vallies:
so I will begin
Now while I cannot hear the city's din;
Now while the early budders are just new,
And run in mazes of the youngest hue
About old forests; while the willow trails
Its delicate amber; and the dairy pails
Bring home increase of milk.
And, as the year
Grows lush in juicy stalks, I'll smoothly steer
My little boat, for many quiet hours,
With streams that deepen freshly into bowers.
Many and many a verse I hope to write,
Before the daisies, vermeil rimm'd and white,
Hide in deep herbage; and ere yet the bees
Hum about globes of clover and sweet peas,
I must be near the middle of my story.
O may no wintry season, bare and hoary,
See it half finished: but let Autumn bold,
With universal tinge of sober gold,
Be all about me when I make an end.
And now at once, adventuresome, I send
My herald thought into a wilderness:
There let its trumpet blow, and quickly dress
My uncertain path with green, that I may speed
Easily onward, thorough flowers and weed.
Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.
The Poem Aloud — Listen to a reading of the poem's first 33 lines.
A Brief Biography — Learn more about Keats's life and work via the British Library.
The First Edition — See images of the first edition of Endymion—a book that would make Keats the target of much vicious criticism in the conservative press.
Keats's Preface to Endymion — Read Keats's rather self-conscious preface to Endymion, in which he tries to get ahead of the critics by admitting it's an immature work before they can tell him so. (This didn't work.)
The Complete Poem — Read the full text of Endymion.
The Keats-Shelley House — Learn more about Keats at the website of the Keats-Shelley House, a museum housed in Keats's final lodgings in Rome.