Ode To The West Wind -- P. B. Shelley

 Ode To The West Wind — P. B. Shelley

 

I

 

O Wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being,

Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead

Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing.

 

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,

Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,

Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

 

The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,

Each like a corpse within its grave, until

Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow

 

Her clarion o’er the dreaming earth, and fill 

(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) 

With living hues and odours plain and hill:

 

Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;

Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh, hear!

 

  

II

 

Thou on whose stream, ’mid the steep sky’s commotion, 

Loose clouds like earth’s decaying leaves are shed, 

Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,

 

Angels of rain and lightning; there are spread

On the blue surface of thine airy surge,

Like the bright hair uplifted from the head

 

Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge

Of the horizon to the zenith’s height,

The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge

 

Of the dying year, to which this closing night

Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,

Vaulted with all thy congregated might

 

Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere

Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: Oh, hear!

 

III

 

Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams

The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,

Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams, 

 

Beside a pumice isle in Baiae’s bay, 

And saw in sleep old palaces and towers

Quivering within the wave’s intenser day,

 

All overgrown with azure moss and flowers

So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou

For whose path the Atlantic’s level powers

 

Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below

The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear

The sapless foliage of the ocean, know

 

Thy voice, and suddenly grow grey with fear,

And tremble and despoil themselves: Oh, hear!

 

 

                                  IV

 

If I were a dead leaf, thou mightiest bear;

If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;

A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share

 

The impulse of thy strength, only less free

Than thou, O uncontrollable! If even

I were as in my boyhood, and could be

 

The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,

As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed

Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne’er have striven

 

As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.

Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!

I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!

 

A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed

One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.

 

 

V

 

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:

What If my leaves are falling like its own!

The tumult of thy mighty harmonies

 

Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,

Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit fierce,

My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!

 

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe

Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!

And, by the incantation of this verse,

 

Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth

Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!

Be through my lips to unawakened earth

 

The trumpet of a prophecy! O, Wind,

If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

 

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The wild west wind represents to Shelley one of the invisible forces of Nature whose presence he could feel everywhere. He is conscious of a strange affinity between himself and this all-pervading power. In this noble ode, he makes an impassioned appeal to the west wind to instil in him the same courage and hope it instils into everything in Nature. 

 

The poem commences with an apostrophe to the wild west wind which has the very essence of the autumn season in it. The dried and withered leaves feel the unseen presence of the wind, and are driven before it like ghosts fleeing from an enchanter. The leaves of various colours, resembling crowds suffering from plague, are swept along with incredible force by the west wind. It is, however, a preserver as well as a destroyer. It acts as a chariot to the winged seeds and takes them along to their dark wintry bed, where they rest throughout the bitter winter. When spring comes, gentle zephyr will awaken them to life. Flowers will spring up everywhere with beautiful colours and perfume the air. 

 

The clouds also feel the might of the west wind. They are like leaves falling from tangled branches of a gigantic tree high in the sky. They are of Heaven and Ocean. They are messengers of rain and lightning. Shaken by the wind they are driven into confused masses, of clouds from the dim verge of the horizon to the zenith’s height. They appear to the poet like the curls raised up by a breeze, on the head of some fierce Maenad (a frenzied worshipper of Bacchus, the god of wine). Then they shower rain. The west wind seems to sing the dirge of the dying year, to which the closing night will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, vaulted over by the clouds from which will burst black rain, fire, and hail. 

 

The Mediterranean is disturbed in its summer dreams and roused from its long sleep by the west wind. It has been sleeping, lulled by the gentle murmur of the clear streams, and sweetly dreaming of palaces and towns over-grown with moss and reflected in its own placid waters. So cloying is the sweetness of these visions that the sense faints picturing them. Even the water of the Atlantic are divided into chasms by the wind. When the west wind in its fury sweeps over them, the vegetation at the bottom of the sea recognizes its voice, dreads it, suddenly grows grey with fear, trembles and sheds all its leaves. 

 

In the concluding stanzas of the Ode, Shelley voices a prayer to the wild west wind. If he had been a dead leaf that it might bear, a swift cloud to fly with it, or a wave to pant beneath its power and share the impulse of its strength, we could have been happy. If he had at least preserved the dreams and ideals of his boyhood, when it was no vain hope to attempt to outstrip the speed of the west wind, he could have dispensed with this prayer. Age has brought him bitterness and disappointments. His ideals have been shattered. Worldly customs and conventions weigh down one who is, like the west wind, tameless and swift and proud. He has fallen on the thorns of life and is bleeding. He passionately appeals to the west wind to lift him as a wave, a leaf, or a cloud, and save him from further agony.   

 

Like the forest, he wishes to become a passive instrument through which the wind can express itself. What does it matter, he askes, if his leaves also are falling like the leaves of the forest? The mighty harmonies of the wild west wind can take a melancholy autumnal tone from both. The very sadness of the music will add to its sweetness.  

 

The poet calls on the impetuous and fierce spirit of the west wind to inspire him, and drive away his dead thoughts like withered leaves, to quicken a new birth. He prays for his words to spread among mankind like ashes and sparks from an unextinguished hearth. Through his lips, the west wind should deliver this great message of optimism and hope — ‘If winter comes, can spring be far behind?’

 

The poem concludes on a note of hope. Shelley’s ideals may have been shattered, but he has not lost faith. He is sure that better times are in sight which would prove that his dreams have not been in vain. 

 

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Ode To A Skylark - P. B. Shelley

Ode To A Skylark — P. B. Shelley

 

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!

Bird thou never wert,

That from Heaven, or near it,

Pourest thy full heart

In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.                                                       

 

Higher still and higher 

From the earth thou springest

Like a cloud of fire;

The blue deep thou wingest,

And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.                                   

 

In the golden lightning

Of the sunken sun,

O’er which clouds are bright’ning, 

Thou dost float and run;

Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.                                           

 

The pale purple even 

Melts around thy flight;

Like a star of heaven 

In the broad daylight

Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight;                                        

 

Keen as are the arrows 

Of that silver sphere,

Whose intense lamp narrows

In the white dawn clear

Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.                                                

 

All the earth and air

With thy voice is loud,

As when night is bare,

From one lonely cloud

The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed.                        

 

What thou art we know not;

What is most like thee?

From rainbow clouds there flow not

Drops so bright to see

As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.                                       

 

Like a poet hidden

In the light of thought,

Singing hymns unbidden

Till the world is wrought

To Sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not;                                   

 

Like a high-born maiden

In a palace tower,

Soothing her love-laden

Soul in secret hour

With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower:                           

 

Like a glow-worm golden

In a dell of dew,

Scattering unbeholden

Its aerial hue

Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view;                

 

Like a rose embower’d 

In its own green leaves,

By warm winds deflower’d 

Till the scent it gives 

Makes faint with too much sweet those heavy-winged thieves.                 

 

Sound of vernal showers

On the twinkling grass,

Rain-awaken’d flowers,

All that ever was 

Joyous, and clear, and fresh, the music doth surpass.                                 

 

Teach us, sprite or bird,

What sweet thoguths are thine!

I have never heard

Praise of love or wine

That panted forth a flood or rapture so divine.

 

Chorus hymeneal,

Or triumphal chaunt,

Match’d ith thine would be all

But an empty vaunt—

A thing wherein we feel there is some bidden want.

 

What objects are the fountains

Of thy happy strains?

What fields, or waves, or mountains?

What shapes of sky or plain?

What love of thine own kind? What ignorance of pain?

With thy clear keen joyance

Languor cannot be:

Shadow of annoyance

Never came near thee:

Thou lovest; but ne’er knew love’s sad satiety.

 

Waking or asleep,

Thou of death must deem

Things more true and deep

Than we mortals dream,

Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?

 

We look before and after,

And pine for what is not:

Our sincerest laughter

With some pain is fraught;

Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

 

Yet if we could scorn

Hate, and pride, and fear;

If we were things born

Not to shed a tear,

I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.

 

Better than all measures

Of delightful sound,

Better than all treasures

That in books are found,

Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!

 

Teach me half the gladness 

That thy brain must know,

Such harmonious madness

From my lips would flow

The world should listen then — as I am listening now!

 

                   ----

 

The skylark is greeted as a cheerful spirit. It could never have been a bird. For it sends down sweet music from near heaven. The music is not merely sweet, but also copious, and it is sung effortlessly.

 

The bird seems to be flying up higher and higher, like a column of fire towering upwards. It sings and soars at the same time.

 

While the sun is setting, the bird flies about singing. It seems like the very spirit of happiness. Even thought it is evening, the music continues to be fresh and effortless. After sunset, the bird continues flying. During day and night, it is always heard, but it remains unseen.

 

The morning star shines brightly before daybreak, but at dawn fades, though we still feel that it is there. Similarly, from the music of the bird, we can sense its presence.

 

It fills the earth and air with its sweet music, like the moon shedding its light all over the world.

 

We do not know anything about the bird, except that it rains out music clouds, lit by a rainbow, sending out showers.

 

The bird, however, can be understood in some way by comparing it with what we know better. It is like a poet remains unknown, but whose work influences he hopes and feelings of the world. Again, it is like a princess in the palace tower, who cannot be seen, but whose love-songs can be heard. It can also be compared to a glow-worm hidden amidst dew, but is a centre of radiating light. A rose hidden among its own leaves, but spreading out perfume, is like the invisible skylark whose music is heard. 

 

Everything joyous, clear, and fresh, like the sound of rain in spring or the blossoming of flowers in rain, is less delightful than the skylark’s music. For the song of the skylark is an expression of perfect rapture. The poet wonders what thoughts could have induced such pure joy. Marriage songs or music celebrating a victory may be full of joy. But even they do not express happiness in all its perfection. 

 

The poet wonders about the source of the ecstatic music of the bird. Is it inspired by river or sea, sky, mountain, or plain? Is it due to love for other birds? How does the skylark manage to remain unaware of sorrow?

 

The bird is so full of joy that it can never have felt listlessness, not experienced annoyance. Human love starts in joy but ends in satiation. The skylark continues to love without experiencing satiation.

 

The bird must clearly know the truth about death which gives peace of mind. Otherwise, the music cannot be so clear and continuous. Men think of the past and future.  They are always discontented with the present. Even when they laugh sincerely, they suffer from some hidden sorrow. Their sweetest songs are based on tragic themes. Even if men give up hate, pride, and fear, and even if there should be no need for them to weep, even then their joy will be less perfect than the skylark’s.

 

The skylark never seems to be resting on the earth. Its musical talent is needed by the poet more than all human music and all the riches of wisdom written down in books.

 

The poet begs the skylark to teach him to experience half of its joy. That would be sufficient to make him write poetry that will attract the world’s attention, even as the bird’s music has now made him listen to it with undivided attention. 

 

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"If —" - Rudyard Kipling

"If —" – Rudyard Kipling 

 

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

 

If you can dream —and not make dreams your master;

If you can think —and not make thoughts your aim:

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two imposters just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

 

If can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there in nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

 

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with kings —nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,

And —which is more —you’ll be a Man, my son.

                           ---- 

‘If―’ – Rudyard Kipling 

 

1^st Stanza

 

The poet addresses to his son….

 

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

 

If you wanted to be a good human being and wanted to be successful man in life, you should keep calm when other people around you are losing their temper. You should not lose your temperament even if others are blaming you for their faults.

 

Losing the temper does not solve a problem, rather intensifies it. Keeping the head cool makes you think wisely to face these tough situations, and ultimately a solution comes out. 

 

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

 

You should have the faith in yourself, even when others doubt you. But after that, you should give some importance to their doubt too and try to find out what may be the reason for their suspicion. After all, “To err is human…’

 

So, by keeping faith in yourself, you make sure that you don’t get demoralized or disheartened. And, by allowing others’ doubt a little space of thought, you ensure that you are not doing something wrong knowingly or unknowingly.

 

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

 

You should work hard and wait for the result patiently. You should not get tired by waiting 

 

There are a number of real-life examples where people missed big opportunities only by losing their patience. Moreover, there goes a number of proverbs. “Hurry will bury you.” “Haste makes waste.” “Patience pays off.” So, it’s quite understandable why the poet makes a point for patience here.

 

Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

 

People may lie about you to others, but you should not indulge yourself in lies. In other words, you should always remain truthful.

 

If you are misled or tempted to lie, people would ultimately discover the truth and won’t believe you anymore. That’s why it’s important to speak the truth even if that hurts you.

 

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

 

People may show their hatred towards you, yet you should not hate them. You should show your love and respect to others.

 

No man or woman is perfect in this world. Everyone has his strengths and weaknesses. You must accept that and respect them for the good qualities in them

 

And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

 

You should not show yourself as too good a person or talk too wisely with common people, even after possessing such qualities.

 

Having acquired all these good qualities mentioned above, people generally feel proud and tend to show off how good they are. But the warns you not to go that way. In that case, others would feel uncomfortable in your company and avoid you. Even others may try to prove you wrong at any cost, leading to an unhealthy competition.

 

2^nd Stanza

 

If you can dream —and not make dreams your master:

 

To do something bigger, you should dream first. But the poet also reminds you not to be guided by unrealistic dreams. If dreams take the driver’s seat, you will get detached from reality and eventually fail.

 

There goes a saying — “You have dream first before your dream can come true.” So, we should dream to reach great heights in life, but keeping the reality in mind. 

 

If you can think —and not make thoughts your aim:

 

You should be able to think over a matter, but you should not make the thoughts your aim. That is to say that you often lose your radar and get detached from the main point. So, your thinking should not be scattered misleading you away from your target.

 

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same:

 

Life is a combination of success and failure, joy and sorrow, good times and bad times. So, you should accept both and face both situations with similar treatment. 

 

Here the poet personifies Triumph and Disaster, calling them ‘two impostors’ (Pretenders or Deceivers). People become so happy in success that they can forget their duty at hand. You may get too complacent to be proud at a small success, reducing your chances to reach higher goals. Again, at bad times, if you are too grieved to lose your faith and confidence. In both cases, your regular course of work is hampered. That is why the poet calls Triumph and Disaster are ‘two imposters. He asks you to treat those deceivers with equal treatment with smiling face. In short, you should not be too happy or too sad under any circumstances.

 

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

 

You must bear the tough situations where you see that your speech or statement is distorted by someone to befool others.

 

Very often you see that people misinterpret or even deliberately distort your words to use it in their favour. You should not lose your temper hearing that. Rather you should tolerate that, ensuring you have spoken the truth. 

 

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools;

 

You must hold your nerves even after seeing that your favourite thing that you have built over the time with your own efforts is broken. Then you must pick up the scattered parts and build it all over again. This is another key to success and getting over the top of the world, according to the poet.

 

To keep you cool is not easy in such a situation. But patience and the mental toughness would help you build them again. Indeed, there is a story about Isaac Newton that the papers containing his theories were destroyed in fire, and he wrote them again from the beginning. 

 

 

3^rd Stanza 

 

If you can make on heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss.

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

 

You should be able to accumulate all you have and take a risk in one turn of the game of pitch-and-toss. You may lose the game and all your possessions. But you must stay calm without uttering a word about that loss and rebuild it from the beginning. 

 

Here the poet talks about the capability of taking big risks to achieve much greater success and keeping quiet even if we lose the bet. This is yet another aspect of our mental toughness that you need to possess.

 

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

 

In the above four lines the poet reiterates the same theme of mental strength and the power of Wil. You must force your body (heart, nerve, and sinew) to serve you even after it has lost its strength due to old age or illness. Thus, you should keep on working driven by the power of Will which would ask them (heart, nerve, and sinew) to ‘hold on’ compelling them to do their job. 

 

If you want to do something great from your heart, the will inside you would prevent the body from getting tired. Indeed, there goes a proverb: “When going gets tough, the tough gets going.”

 

 

4^th Stanza

 

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings —nor lose the common touch.

 

You should stay in touch with people from every class of the society. You should be able to talk with common mass without losing your virtue or moral values.  Again, you should be able to walk with kings without going beyond the reach of the common people.

 

Being in touch with common people would help you realize the reality and feel the needs of the society. On the other hand, being in touch with noble people would give you the power and opportunity to reach your higher goals.

 

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

 

You should build yourself strong enough, mentally, and physically, so that neither your enemies nor your loving friends can hurt you. Moreover, you should develop healthy relationship with everyone around you, and should not allow anyone to harm you.

 

You must develop your personality in the right way, so that everyone supports you and gives you importance (count with you), but none too much. If you allow someone to give you too much importance, you may be emotionally bound. That may restrict our freedom and prevent you from doing your duty. Or you may get emotionally complacent thinking that you are so much liked by others, thus reducing your effort.  

 

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,

 

Time is precious. A minute is filled with sixty seconds. Time (minute) is here called unforgiving, as it waits for none and doesn’t forgive him who wastes it. You should utilize every minute of our life in productive work. Wasting time is not something you can afford in your short lifespan.

 

 

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it.

And —which is more —you’ll be a Man, my son.

 

Finally comes the achievement that you can get if you fulfill all the conditions mentioned so far. You can win this Earth and everything in it. You can go to top of the world and rule over everything. And what is more, you should be a complete and perfect human being.

 

 

 

Note: we should not forget that Rudyard Kipling wrote this poem for his son, as it is addressed in the last line of the poem. The poet wanted to show his son the right way to be a future successful leader. But it has inspired many people in their journey of life. 

 

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