Endymion (poem)

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Endymion is a poem by John Keats first published in 1818. Beginning famously with the line "A thing of beauty is a joy for ever", Endymion, like many epic poems in English (including John Dryden's translations from Virgil and Alexander Pope's translations from Homer), is written in rhyming, or 'heroic', couplets, technically known as iambic pentameter. It is, however, not strictly written in this form as there is an extra syllable behind the last foot, and thus contains 11 syllables instead of the more usual 10 syllables, hence, it is called hendecasyllabic. Keats based the poem on the Greek myth of Endymion, the shepherd who falls in love with the moon goddess Selene. The poem elaborates on the original story and renames Selene "Cynthia" (an alternate name for Artemis).

1 Narrative
2 Critical reception
3 See also
4 The First Stanza Of The Famous Poem
5 References
6 External links

[edit] Narrative

It starts by painting a rustic scene of trees, rivers, herders, and sheep. They gather around an altar and pray to Pan, god of shepherds and flocks. As the youths sing and dance, the elder men sit and talk about how life would be like in the shades of Elysium. However, Endymion is in a trancelike state, and not participating in their discourse. His sister, Peona, takes him away and brings him to her resting place where he sleeps. After he wakes, he tells Peona of his encounter with Cynthia, and how much he loved her.

The poem is divided into four books, each approximately 1,000 lines long. Book I gives Endymion's account of his dreams and experiences, as related to Peona, and give the background for the rest of the poem. In Book II, Endymion ventures into the underworld in search of his love. He encounters Adonis and Venus — a pairing of mortal and immortal — apparently foreshadowing a similar destiny for the mortal Endymion and his immortal paramour. Book III reveals Endymion's enduring love, and he begs the Moon not to torment him any longer. Book IV, "And so he groan'd, as one by beauty slain." He is miserable, till quite suddenly he comes upon her. She then tells him of how she tried to forget him, to move on, but that in the end, "'There is not one,/ No, no, not one/ But thee to comfort a poor lonely maid;'"

[edit] Critical reception

Endymion received scathing criticism after its release, and Keats himself noted its diffuse and unappealing style (see, for example, The Quarterly Review April 1818 pp. 204-208; John Gibson Lockhart, Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine August 1818 [1]). However, he did not regret writing it, as he likened the process to leaping into the ocean to become more acquainted with his surroundings; in a poem to Haydon, he expressed that "I would sooner fail than not be among the greatest."

Not all critics disliked the work. The poet Thomas Hood wrote 'Written in Keats' Endymion',in which the "Muse..charming the air to music...gave back Endymion in a dreamlike tale". Henry Morley said, "The song of Endymion throbs throughout with a noble poet's sense of all that his art means for him. What mechanical defects there are in it may even serve to quicken our sense of the youth and freshness of this voice of aspiration."

[edit] See also

[edit] The First Stanza Of The Famous Poem

       A THING of beauty is a joy for ever:
       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 the 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 for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
       Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
       From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
       Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
       For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
       With the green world they live in; and clear rills
       That for themselves a cooling covert make
       'Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,
       Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
       And such too is the grandeur of the dooms                    
       We have imagined for the mighty dead;
       All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
       An endless fountain of immortal drink,
       Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.