In the canon
Ode on Indolence
- Form
- Form Poem
- Year
- Year 1819
- Pages
- Pages 2
"Ripe was the drowsy hour," and Keats, stretched out on a May morning with no wish to move, watches three figures drift past him like the carved procession on a marble urn. They turn, and he knows them: Love, Ambition, and Poesy, the last of them his demon, the one he loves most.
Ripe was the drowsy hour; / The blissful cloud of summer-indolence / Benumb'd my eyes; my pulse grew less and less;
The blurb, the gist, the why of the day and the work itself are in the app. The first button needs it on this device; the second gets it there.