Ode : Ode On Indolence

Ode On Indolence by John Keats 

"They toil not, neither do they spin."

I

One morn before me were three figures seen,

     With bowed necks, and joined hands, side-faced ;

And one behind the other stepp’d serene,

     In placid sandals, and in white robes graced ;

They pass’d, like figures on a marble urn,

     When shifted round to see the other side ;

          They came again ; as when the urn once more

Is shifted round, the first seen shades return ;

     And they were strange to me, as may betide

          With vases, to one deep in Phidian lore.

 

II

How is it, Shadows ! that I knew ye not ?

     How came ye muffled in so hush a mask ?

Was it a silent deep-disguised plot

     To steal away, and leave without a task

My idle days ? Ripe was the drowsy hour ;

     The blissful cloud of summer-indolence

          Benumb’d my eyes ; my pulse grew less and less ;

Pain had no sting, and pleasure’s wreath no flower :

     O, why did ye not melt, and leave my sense

          Unhaunted quite of all but—nothingness ?

 

III

A third time pass’d they by, and, passing, turn’d

     Each one the face a moment whiles to me ;

Then faded, and to follow them I burn’d

     And ach’d for wings because I knew the three ;

The first was a fair Maid, and Love her name ;

     The second was Ambition, pale of cheek,

          And ever watchful with fatigued eye ;

The last, whom I love more, the more of blame

     Is heap’d upon her, maiden most unmeek,—

          I knew to be my demon Poesy.

 

IV

They faded, and, forsooth ! I wanted wings :

     O folly ! What is love ! and where is it ?

And for that poor Ambition ! it springs

     From a man’s little heart’s short fever-fit ;

For Poesy !—no,—she has not a joy,—

     At least for me,—so sweet as drowsy noons,

          And evenings steep’d in honied indolence ;

O, for an age so shelter’d from annoy,

     That I may never know how change the moons,

          Or hear the voice of busy common-sense !

 

V

And once more came they by ;— alas ! wherefore ?

     My sleep had been embroider'd with dim dreams ;

My soul had been a lawn besprinkled o'er

     With flowers, and stirring shades, and baffled beams :

The morn was clouded, but no shower fell,

     Tho' in her lids hung the sweet tears of May ;

          The open casement press'd a new-leav'd vine ,

     Let in the budding warmth and throstle's lay ;

O Shadows ! 'twas a time to bid farewell !

          Upon your skirts had fallen no tears of mine.

 

VI

So, ye three Ghosts, adieu ! Ye cannot raise

     My head cool-bedded in the flowery grass ;

For I would not be dieted with praise,

     A pet-lamb in a sentimental farce !

Fade softly from my eyes, and be once more

     In masque-like figures on the dreamy urn ;

          Farewell ! I yet have visions for the night,

And for the day faint visions there is store ;

          Vanish, ye Phantoms ! from my idle spright,

     Into the clouds, and never more return !

Summary of "Ode On Indolence"

In the first stanza, Keats’s speaker describes a vision he had one morning of three strange figures wearing white robes and “placid sandals.” The figures passed by in profile, and the speaker describes their passing by comparing them to figures carved into the side of a marble urn, or vase. When the last figure passed by, the first figure reappeared, just as would happen if one turned a vase carved with figures before one’s eyes.

In the second stanza, the speaker addresses the figures directly, asking them how it was that he did not recognize them and how they managed to sneak up on him. He suspects them of trying to “steal away, and leave without a task” his “idle days,” and goes on to describe how he passed the morning before their arrival: by lazily enjoying the summer day in a sort of sublime numbness. He asks the figures why they did not disappear and leave him to this indolent nothingness.

In the third stanza, the figures pass by for a third time. The speaker feels a powerful urge to rise up and follow them, because he now recognizes them: the first is a “fair maid,” Love; the second is pale-cheeked Ambition; and the third, whom the speaker seems to love despite himself, is the unmeek maiden, the demon Poesy, or poetry. 

When the figures disappear in the fourth stanza, the speaker again aches to follow them, but he says that the urge is folly: Love is fleeting, Ambition is mortal, and Poesy has nothing to offer that compares with an indolent summer day untroubled by “busy common-sense.”

In the fifth stanza, the speaker laments again the figures’ third passing, describing his morning before their arrival, when his soul seemed a green lawn sprinkled with flowers, shadows, and sunbeams. There were clouds in the sky but no rain fell, and the open window let in the warmth of the day and the music of birdsong. The speaker tells the figures they were right to leave, for they had failed to rouse him. 

In the sixth stanza, he bids them adieu and asserts again that Love, Ambition, and Poesy are not enough to make him raise his head from its pillow in the grass. He bids them farewell and tells them he has an ample supply of visions; then he orders them to vanish and never return.