Comparative Essay on Blake’s Moral Vision and Keats’s Aesthetic Ideal

Essay

Write a comparative essay on two poems on the syllabus, on any subject of your choosing. Essays should

exhibit original, critical thinking,
demonstrate understanding of and engagement with the subject matter and themes of the course, and
Engage with three relevant secondary sources.

The term paper must be in MLA format and include a word count on the final page As this is a poetry course, essays must engage with both form and content, identifying and carefully engaging with the technical elements of your chosen works and taking sound into consideration. The 2 poems i wish to engage with are John Keat’s Ode on a Grecian Urn and William Blake’s Auguries of Innocence.

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Auguries of Innocence

BY WILLIAM BLAKE

To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.

A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all Heaven in a rage.

A dove house fill’d with doves and pigeons
Shudders Hell thro’ all its regions.

A dog starv’d at his master’s gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.

A horse misus’d upon the road
Calls to Heaven for human blood.

Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.

A skylark wounded in the wing,
A Cherubim does cease to sing.

The game cock clipp’d and arm’d for fight
Does the rising Sun affright.

Every wolf’s and lion’s howl
Raises from Hell a human soul.

…

He who respects the infant’s faith
Triumphs over Hell and Death.

The child’s toys and the old man’s reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.

The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.

He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of Knowledge out.

The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar’s laurel crown,

Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour’s iron brace.

When gold and gems adorn the plow
To peaceful arts shall Envy bow.

A riddle or the cricket’s cry
Is to doubt a fit reply.

The emmet’s inch and eagle’s mile
Make lame Philosophy to smile.

He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne’er believe, do what you please.

If the Sun and Moon should doubt,
They’d immediately go out.

To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.

The whore and gambler, by the state
Licens’d, build that nation’s fate.

The harlot’s cry from street to street,
Shall weave Old England’s winding sheet.

Copyright Credit: William Blake, “Auguries of Innocence” from Poems, ed. Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1863).
Source: Poems, ed. Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1863)

The winner’s shout, the loser’s curse,
Dance before dead England’s hearse.

Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born.

Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro’ the eye
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the Soul slept in beams of light.

God appears and God is light
To those poor souls who dwell in night,
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.

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Ode on a Grecian Urn

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-fring’d 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, unwearied,
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 this 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.”

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