"Ode to Psyche," one of the earliest of Keats's famous odes, was published in 1820, appearing in his final collection, Lamia, Isabella, the Eve of St. Agnes, and Other Poems. In the poem, a wandering speaker finds Psyche (goddess of the soul and mind) asleep in the arms of Eros (god of love). Awestruck by Psyche's beauty, the speaker vows to build her a temple—not from stone, but from his imagination. Through visions of the rich worlds inside the speaker's own mind, the poem celebrates the imagination's awesome and mysterious creative power.
Get
LitCharts
|
1O Goddess! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung
2 By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear,
3And pardon that thy secrets should be sung
4 Even into thine own soft-conched ear:
5Surely I dreamt to-day, or did I see
6 The winged Psyche with awaken’d eyes?
7I wander'd in a forest thoughtlessly,
8 And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise,
9Saw two fair creatures, couched side by side
10 In deepest grass, beneath the whisp’ring roof
11 Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran
12 A brooklet, scarce espied:
13'Mid hush'd, cool-rooted flowers, fragrant-eyed,
14 Blue, silver-white, and budded Tyrian,
15They lay calm-breathing on the bedded grass;
16 Their arms embraced, and their pinions too;
17 Their lips touch’d not, but had not bade adieu,
18As if disjoined by soft-handed slumber,
19And ready still past kisses to outnumber
20 At tender eye-dawn of aurorean love:
21 The winged boy I knew;
22But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove?
23 His Psyche true!
24O latest born and loveliest vision far
25 Of all Olympus’ faded hierarchy!
26Fairer than Phoebe's sapphire-region’d star,
27 Or Vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky;
28Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none,
29 Nor altar heap’d with flowers;
30Nor virgin-choir to make delicious moan
31 Upon the midnight hours;
32No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet
33 From chain-swung censer teeming;
34No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat
35 Of pale-mouth’d prophet dreaming.
36O brightest! though too late for antique vows,
37 Too, too late for the fond believing lyre,
38When holy were the haunted forest boughs,
39 Holy the air, the water, and the fire;
40Yet even in these days so far retir'd
41 From happy pieties, thy lucent fans,
42 Fluttering among the faint Olympians,
43I see, and sing, by my own eyes inspir’d.
44So let me be thy choir, and make a moan
45 Upon the midnight hours;
46Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet
47 From swinged censer teeming;
48Thy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat
49 Of pale-mouth’d prophet dreaming.
50Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane
51 In some untrodden region of my mind,
52Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain,
53 Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind:
54Far, far around shall those dark-cluster’d trees
55 Fledge the wild-ridged mountains steep by steep;
56And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees,
57 The moss-lain Dryads shall be lull’d to sleep;
58And in the midst of this wide quietness
59A rosy sanctuary will I dress
60With the wreath’d trellis of a working brain,
61 With buds, and bells, and stars without a name,
62With all the gardener Fancy e’er could feign,
63 Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same:
64And there shall be for thee all soft delight
65 That shadowy thought can win,
66A bright torch, and a casement ope at night,
67 To let the warm Love in!
1O Goddess! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung
2 By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear,
3And pardon that thy secrets should be sung
4 Even into thine own soft-conched ear:
5Surely I dreamt to-day, or did I see
6 The winged Psyche with awaken’d eyes?
7I wander'd in a forest thoughtlessly,
8 And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise,
9Saw two fair creatures, couched side by side
10 In deepest grass, beneath the whisp’ring roof
11 Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran
12 A brooklet, scarce espied:
13'Mid hush'd, cool-rooted flowers, fragrant-eyed,
14 Blue, silver-white, and budded Tyrian,
15They lay calm-breathing on the bedded grass;
16 Their arms embraced, and their pinions too;
17 Their lips touch’d not, but had not bade adieu,
18As if disjoined by soft-handed slumber,
19And ready still past kisses to outnumber
20 At tender eye-dawn of aurorean love:
21 The winged boy I knew;
22But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove?
23 His Psyche true!
24O latest born and loveliest vision far
25 Of all Olympus’ faded hierarchy!
26Fairer than Phoebe's sapphire-region’d star,
27 Or Vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky;
28Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none,
29 Nor altar heap’d with flowers;
30Nor virgin-choir to make delicious moan
31 Upon the midnight hours;
32No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet
33 From chain-swung censer teeming;
34No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat
35 Of pale-mouth’d prophet dreaming.
36O brightest! though too late for antique vows,
37 Too, too late for the fond believing lyre,
38When holy were the haunted forest boughs,
39 Holy the air, the water, and the fire;
40Yet even in these days so far retir'd
41 From happy pieties, thy lucent fans,
42 Fluttering among the faint Olympians,
43I see, and sing, by my own eyes inspir’d.
44So let me be thy choir, and make a moan
45 Upon the midnight hours;
46Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet
47 From swinged censer teeming;
48Thy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat
49 Of pale-mouth’d prophet dreaming.
50Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane
51 In some untrodden region of my mind,
52Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain,
53 Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind:
54Far, far around shall those dark-cluster’d trees
55 Fledge the wild-ridged mountains steep by steep;
56And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees,
57 The moss-lain Dryads shall be lull’d to sleep;
58And in the midst of this wide quietness
59A rosy sanctuary will I dress
60With the wreath’d trellis of a working brain,
61 With buds, and bells, and stars without a name,
62With all the gardener Fancy e’er could feign,
63 Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same:
64And there shall be for thee all soft delight
65 That shadowy thought can win,
66A bright torch, and a casement ope at night,
67 To let the warm Love in!
O Goddess! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung
By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear,
And pardon that thy secrets should be sung
Even into thine own soft-conched ear:
Surely I dreamt to-day, or did I see
The winged Psyche with awaken’d eyes?
I wander'd in a forest thoughtlessly,
And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise,
Saw two fair creatures, couched side by side
In deepest grass, beneath the whisp’ring roof
Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran
A brooklet, scarce espied:
'Mid hush'd, cool-rooted flowers, fragrant-eyed,
Blue, silver-white, and budded Tyrian,
They lay calm-breathing on the bedded grass;
Their arms embraced, and their pinions too;
Their lips touch’d not, but had not bade adieu,
As if disjoined by soft-handed slumber,
And ready still past kisses to outnumber
At tender eye-dawn of aurorean love:
The winged boy I knew;
But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove?
His Psyche true!
O latest born and loveliest vision far
Of all Olympus’ faded hierarchy!
Fairer than Phoebe's sapphire-region’d star,
Or Vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky;
Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none,
Nor altar heap’d with flowers;
Nor virgin-choir to make delicious moan
Upon the midnight hours;
No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet
From chain-swung censer teeming;
No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat
Of pale-mouth’d prophet dreaming.
O brightest! though too late for antique vows,
Too, too late for the fond believing lyre,
When holy were the haunted forest boughs,
Holy the air, the water, and the fire;
Yet even in these days so far retir'd
From happy pieties, thy lucent fans,
Fluttering among the faint Olympians,
I see, and sing, by my own eyes inspir’d.
So let me be thy choir, and make a moan
Upon the midnight hours;
Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet
From swinged censer teeming;
Thy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat
Of pale-mouth’d prophet dreaming.
Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane
In some untrodden region of my mind,
Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain,
Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind:
Far, far around shall those dark-cluster’d trees
Fledge the wild-ridged mountains steep by steep;
And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees,
The moss-lain Dryads shall be lull’d to sleep;
And in the midst of this wide quietness
A rosy sanctuary will I dress
With the wreath’d trellis of a working brain,
With buds, and bells, and stars without a name,
With all the gardener Fancy e’er could feign,
Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same:
And there shall be for thee all soft delight
That shadowy thought can win,
A bright torch, and a casement ope at night,
To let the warm Love in!
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.
A Reading of the Poem — Hear the poem performed aloud by an actor in character as Keats.
The Keats Letters Project — Visit the Keats Letters Project, where you can read scholars' responses to Keats's touching, funny letters. Keats often discussed his poetry in his letters—and made some pretty good jokes.
A Short Essay on the Poem — Read scholar Carol Rumens's reflection on "Ode to Psyche."
A Brief Biography — Read the Poetry Foundation's short biography of Keats, and find links to more of his poetry.
The Keats-Shelley Museum — Visit the website of the Keats-Shelley Museum in Rome (housed in the apartment where Keats died) to find more information about Keats's life and work.