Page 319 - DENG405_BRITISH_POETRY
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British Poetry



                   Notes         In Greek mythology, “Lethe” was a river in Hades (the Underworld) that made people forget all
                                 their memories if they drank from it. There’s really no way to dance around it: the speaker is
                                 comparing his feeling to being totally strung out on drugs.
                                 “Opium” is a powerful drug made from the poppy flower, and it was all the rage among certain
                                 adventurous types in the 19th century. The poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge, for example, was an
                                 opium addict, as was the writer Thomas de Quincy, who wrote an essay titled, “Confessions of an
                                 Opium Eater.” This was before people discovered just how toxic opium is for the body.

                                 Lines 5-6
                                         ’Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
                                         But being too happy in thine happiness,
                                 Now we know that the speaker must be addressing the nightingale of the title. He wants to clarify
                                 that the pain he feels is not because he is jealous of the bird’s happiness. Instead, he is excessively
                                 happy for the bird’s happiness. He’s like that friend who bursts into tears when you share really
                                 good news and cries, “I’m just . . . so . . . happy . . . for you!” but you’re not sure if they are really
                                 happy for you or just sad for themselves.

                                 Lines 7-10
                                         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.
                                 And why is the nightingale so happy? Because it gets to sit in the trees all day and sing about
                                 summertime. It’s to the trees what Jimmy Buffet is to the beach.
                                 The nightingale is not a large bird, and it can fly, which seems like enough grounds to call it “light-
                                 winged” (which is pronounced with three syllables, by the way). And in Greek mythology, a “dryad”
                                 is a nymph (female spirit) that lives in the trees.
                                 The bird makes whatever space or “plot” it inhabits “melodious,” and this particular plot seems to
                                 have beech trees, giving it a “beechen green” color.
                                 The nightingale doesn’t hold back. It sings with a “full throat,” like an opera singer in a solo. We
                                 imagine that this poem takes place in the peak of summer.

                                 Stanza 2 Summary

                                 Lines 11-12
                                         O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
                                         Cool’d a long age in the deep-delved earth,
                                 The speaker longs for a drink of wine or some other spirit that has been kept cool deep in the earth.
                                 “Vintage” wine is made from grapes from the same harvest, and people often refer to a particular
                                 year at a winery as a “vintage.”
                                 We have no explanation at this point for his sudden desire to get his drink on. He wants wine to just
                                 start bubbling up out of the ground, as if you could stick a tap right into the soil and let the good
                                 times flow.
                                 Good wine needs to be kept cool, which is why people often store it in their cellars. According to
                                 Keats, the earth is like a giant wine cellar.





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