Ode on a Grecian Urn Analysis

Please use this as the chosen analysis for the final four analyses 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-fringed 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, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal—yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearièd,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea-shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul, to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
O Attic shape! fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.'

“Ode on a Grecian Urn” is a poem written by John Keats describing an ancient Grecian urn, each stanza describing a different section of the vase. There is no distinguishable consistent rhyme scheme in “Ode on a Grecian Urn”, and a distinct structure is hard to identify. The overall tone of the speaker in the poem is one of reverence and admiration, the use of hyperbole utilized quite often when describing the vase itself. The speaker is never identified, but speaks from a narrative perspective, with no point of view discernible. The first stanza is dedicated to describing the very shape of the vase itself, described as an “…unravish'd bride of quietness,” referencing the unchanged historical knowledge inscribed on its very surface, unchanged by translations or alterations. The speaker describes the multitude of characters inscribed on the urn’s surface as well, seemingly enquiring as to the origins and history behind them.

                The second stanza is similar to the first stanza, dedicated to extolling the multitude of virtues this one urn seems to have, this stanza focusing on the “unheard” melodies of the urn. This stanza, the third, and the fourth stanzas are all focused on the inscriptions and art on the urn itself. The final stanza returns to extolling the virtues of the urn, yet again, the speaker using hyperbole to imply that the urn, and physical records of history similar to the urn would last a very long time, as evidenced by the fifth and fourth to last lines:

“When old age shall this generation waste,

Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe”

               The closing line of the poem continues to follow on a similar vein as the first stanza, and the rest of the last stanza, but personifies the urn, the speaker directly referring to the urn, referring to it as a friend. This leads the reader to question the sanity of the speaker, and exactly why the speaker is so obsessed with the urn.