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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’erWith 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-leaved 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.
Summary
Lines 41—44. And once more.....baffled beams. The three figures representing Love, Ambition and Poetry came round for the fourth time before the benumbed eyes of the poet. But they appeared in vain. Now the poet so steeped in his lethargic mood that he paid no attention to them. Their silent call to wake him to the active pursuit of love, ambition and poetry proved futile. His mind was in a stage of drowsiness and semi-consciousness. Here the drowsy state of his mind is compared to a piece of soft, silken cloth. As this piece of cloth has many artistic designs-woven in multicolored threads, so was his mind adorned with many beautiful idle fancies. His soul full of a quiet and dim sensation was like a meadow adorned with lovely flowers, beautified by moving shadows of passing clouds, and embellished with the rays of the sun which fell here and there on the green grass and many-colored flowers when not obstructed by patches of clouds.
Lines 45 —50. The morn.....tears of mine. The summer morning was cloudy. The clouds were charged with water and did not dear up themselves by raining. They gathered in thick mass making the atmosphere dull and dim. Here morning is compared to a melancholy lady and stay there, so also the morning clouds were charged with the refreshing rains of the summer season. Tears by rolling down the cheeks can make the eyes of the lady clear and bright once, again. So also, the clouds by discharging their burden of rain could have made the atmosphere pleasant and charming. But instead, the clouds hovered over the sky and looked like soft tears frozen over the eyelids of morning. The window of Keats’s room was open. A grape creeper climbed on it and pressed it with its new leaves. Through it came in the soft warm wind of the summer season as well as the song of throstle. The sweetness of the drowsy morning was so pleasant to the poet that he did not want to give up his lethargy. Hence, he thought it better to bid farewell to his dear passions — Love, Ambition and Poetry. In doing so, he felt no rest. In other words, he banished from his mind his own dear and favorite passions to which he had dedicated himself till then without any feeling of remorse.