Here's the full excerpt:
> "My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
> My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
> Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
> One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
> 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
> But being too happy in thine happiness,—
> That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,
> In some melodious plot
> Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
> Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
> O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
> Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
> Tasting of Flora and the country green,
> Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
> O for a beaker full of the warm South,
> Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
> With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
> And purple-stained mouth;
> That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
> And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
> Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
> What thou among the leaves hast never known,
> The weariness, the fever, and the fret
> Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
> Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
> Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies,
> Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
> And sweet-sad pleasure,—nothing can be sure,
> But the sweet sorrow, the pain of pleasure alone,
> That in the heart of all things I find still.
> I have heard the nightingale sing
> **Of summer in full-throated ease,
> At the mid-hour of the night, while stars were paling,
> And the moon was slowly paling,**
> Too full for sound and deep for sense,
> **Yet, you may call it fancy, frail and weak,
> If you will; but, ever the while,
> I heard an echo from the distant past**
> Come from the woods, and fancy on the blast
> Skimmed lightly, and went whispering on the breeze,
> All the echoes faded, and I heard
> A drowsy, nummed, and senseless thing;
> Aching with the torture of a love too deep
> Too bitter to forget, and too great to bear.
> And so
>
>
>
>
> I filled my soul with comfort, as I lay:
> "