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Viewer and object become one. Why and how? Keats tells us that the way we know something is beautiful is that it is true.
Yes it fulfills the potential of the medium, participates in a long tradition of form and composition and subject, but more. It speaks truth to us that we recognize more on an emotional level than a rational one.
Call it aesthetic. One test of this is in the Asian gallery of vases where a person can stroll and stroll and stop immediately caught be the beauty of line and color that stands out among all the many offerings.
One viewer, one object connect. Beauty emanates a power, the energy of truth. Your whole being knows it when you are in its presence. Enter your email address to subscribe to this site and receive notifications of new posts by email.
Email Address. Interesting Literature is a participant in the Amazon EU Associates Programme, an affiliate advertising programme designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by linking to Amazon. Share this: Tweet. Like this: Like Loading Frank Hudson March 23, at pm. Daedalus Lex March 23, at pm. The lovers are key to the poem, I think… Loading Great discussion! Subscribe via Email Enter your email address to subscribe to this site and receive notifications of new posts by email.
Interesting Literature. Great Nature! I come—I see thee, as thou standest there, Beckon me out into the wintry air. Who now, with greedy looks, eats up my feast?
What stare outfaces now my silver moon! Save it for me, sweet love! Of as uncertain speed As blow-ball from the mead? I know it—and to know it is despair To one who loves you as I love, sweet Fanny, Whose heart goes fluttering for you every where, Nor when away you roam, Dare keep its wretched home: Love, love alone, has pains severe and many; Then, loveliest!
I cry your mercy—pity—love! Merciful love that tantalises not One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love, Unmask'd, and being seen—without a blot!
That shape, that fairness, that sweet minor zest Of love, your kiss,—those hands, those eyes divine, That warm, white, lucent, million-pleasured breast,— Yourself—your soul—in pity give me all, Withhold no atom's atom or I die, Or living on, perhaps, your wretched thrall, Forget, in the mist of idle misery, Life's purposes,—the palate of my mind Losing its gust, and my ambition blind! Academy of American Poets Educator Newsletter. Teach This Poem. Follow Us. Find Poets.
Poetry Near You. Jobs for Poets. On First Looking into Chapman's Homer. On Seeing the Elgin Marbles. The Eve of St. LitCharts Teacher Editions.
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Sign Up. Already have an account? Sign in. From the creators of SparkNotes, something better. Literature Poetry Lit Terms Shakescleare. Download this LitChart! Question about this poem? Ask us. Cite This Page. Ode on a Grecian Urn Full Text. Lines It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil Crushed.
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