To one who has been long in city pent, 'Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven, -- to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament. Who is more happy, when, with hearts content, Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair And gentle tale of love and languishment? Returning home at evening, with an ear Catching the notes of Philomel, -- an eye Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career, He mourns that day so soon has glided by: E'en like the passage of an angel's tear That falls through the clear ether silently.
To One who has been Long in City Pent. Four Poems by John Keats
Song Cycle by Ronald A. Beckett
1. To one who has been long in city pent  [sung text not yet checked]
Text Authorship:
- by John Keats (1795 - 1821), no title, appears in Poems, first published 1817
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , "Per chi molto tempo restò nelle città rinchiuso", copyright © 2009, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
2. On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer  [sung text not yet checked]
Much have I travelled in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been, Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne; Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies, When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortes when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific — and all his men Looked at each other with a wild surmise — Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
Text Authorship:
- by John Keats (1795 - 1821), "On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer"
Go to the general single-text view
Confirmed with The Book of the Sonnet, ed. by Leigh Hunt and S. Adams Lee, London, Sampson Low, Son, & Marston, 1867.
Note included in the above edition, line 12: “Stared” has been thought by some too violent, but it is precisely the word required by the occasion. The Spaniard was too original and ardent a man either to look, or to affect to look, coldly superior to it. His “eagle eyes” are from life, as may be seen by Titian’s portrait of him.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
3. Bright star  [sung text not yet checked]
Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art - Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night, And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains, and the moors - No - yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake forever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever - or else swoon to death.
Text Authorship:
- by John Keats (1795 - 1821), no title, written 1819?
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- GER German (Deutsch) (Richard Flatter) , "Letztes Sonett", appears in Die Fähre, Englische Lyrik aus fünf Jahrhunderten, first published 1936
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , "Lucente stella, esser potessi come te costante", copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
4. A song about myself  [sung text not yet checked]
There was a naughty boy, A naughty boy was he, He would not stop at home, He could not quiet be -- He took In his knapsack A book Full of vowels And a shirt With some towels, A slight cap For night cap, A hair brush, Comb ditto, New stockings For old ones Would split O! This knapsack Tight at's back He rivetted close And followed his nose To the north, To the north, And follow'd his nose To the north. There was a naughty boy And a naughty boy was he, For nothing would he do But scribble poetry -- He took An ink stand In his hand And a pen Big as ten In the other, And away In a pother He ran To the mountains And fountains And ghostes And postes And witches And ditches And wrote In his coat When the weather Was cool, Fear of gout, And without When the weather Was warm -- Och the charm When we choose To follow one's nose To the north, To the north, To follow one's nose To the north! There was a naughty boy And a naughty boy was he, He kept little fishes In washing tubs three In spite Of the might Of the maid Nor afraid Of his Granny-good -- He often would Hurly burly Get up early And go By hook or crook To the brook And bring home Miller's thumb, Tittlebat Not over fat, Minnows small As the stall Of a glove, Not above The size Of a nice Little baby's Little fingers -- O he made 'Twas his trade Of fish a pretty kettle A kettle -- A kettle Of fish a pretty kettle A kettle! There was a naughty boy, And a naughty boy was he, He ran away to Scotland The people for to see -- There he found That the ground Was as hard, That a yard Was as long, That a song Was as merry, That a cherry Was as red, That lead Was as weighty, That fourscore Was as eighty, That a door Was as wooden As in England -- So he stood in his shoes And he wonder'd, He wonder'd, He stood in his Shoes and he wonder'd.
Text Authorship:
- by John Keats (1795 - 1821), "A song about myself", first published 1883
See other settings of this text.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]