Ode on a Grecian Urn | Text of the Poem

Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
     Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, 
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
     A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: 
What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape
     Of deities or mortals, or of both,
     In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
     What men or gods are these? What maidens
          loth? 
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
     What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard 
     Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but,...

[The entire page is 374 words long]

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