Wednesday 16 June 2010


A thing of beauty is a joy forever:
Its loveliness increases, it will never
Pass into nothingness, but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made of our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits.

from Endymion, Book 1
John Keats

Beauty in another bower here.


  1. Such soft gentle lighting ...

  2. Your picture, Lucille, is certainly a thing of beauty.
    But I can't help wondering if Keats idea, despite its great elegance, perhaps misses the point. Maybe the ephemeral nature of beauty only adds to its glory. Do we really wish to be bound by bands, flowery or otherwise?