Ode on a Grecian Urn
Poem by John KeatsWikipedia
7
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5
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5
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Search complete. 7 mentions across 5 episodes found for "Ode on a Grecian Urn".
Oct 15, 2026
JeanHOST
52 down.
JeanHOST
First word of ode on a Grecian urn.
JeanHOST
I'm like, how am I supposed to know that? It was thou.
JeanHOST
Thou, yes.
JeanHOST
Okay.
JeanHOST
No, of course not.
JeanHOST
Do you know any other words in ode on a Grecian urn? I really...
JeanHOST
I really do
speaker_2HOST
That's the one.
speaker_1HOST
The guy who wrote Ode on a Grecian Urn.
speaker_2HOST
That's the one.
speaker_1HOST
one.[laughs] How does a 19th century poet anchor a story about rogue AI and space portals?
Emily KatzGUEST
But everyone becomes ever more beautiful or handsome when they're in their s- full self, and that's where the whole truth beauty thing too comes from.
Emily KatzGUEST
That, that comes from the John Keats poem Ode to a Grecian Urn, and at the end of it is, "Truth is beauty, beauty truth." You know, this is, essentially this is all there is.
Emily KatzGUEST
Uh, I'm paraphrasing that, but [clears throat] and I'd, I'd loved that poem since I, I was a teenager.
Emily KatzGUEST
I, I was just fascinated with it, and I've always felt like your true beauty, our true beauty is the truth of who we are.
Emily KatzGUEST
Like, that's real beauty to me.
Charlie FordhamHOST
Many critics jumped up and down and jumped to Keats' defense, but in a way, he's kind of right.
Charlie FordhamHOST
Because unlike "Ode on a Grecian Urn," that gives us a kind of truth, it states and then rejects a philosophical position.
Charlie FordhamHOST
You know, beauty is truth, truth beauty.
Rupert FordhamHOST
Mm.
Bruce KuckuckNARRATOR
This recording is in the public domain.
Bruce KuckuckNARRATOR
Ode on a Grecian Urn by John Keats.
Bruce KuckuckNARRATOR
Read for LibriVox dot org.
Bruce KuckuckNARRATOR
Thou still unravished 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-fringed 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 endeared, 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 enjoyed, For ever panting, and for ever young; All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloyed, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.