John Keats' "Ode on a Grecian Urn" is a complex and intriguing poem. I believe the urn triumphs over any ill or fretful feelings or notions that are held in "Ode to a Nightingale." I find this poem quite different from "Ode to a Nightingale" because there is not very much here on grief and imagining death or loved ones who have passed. Whereas the nightingale reminds the speaker of days past, the urn makes the speak think of beauty and truth. All of these things, the nightingale, beauty and truth are all constants. They remain when humans do not. They have all been around for generations and generations before and will still be here generations from now.
The art on the urn is a timeless perfection that really, only art can hold. I think Keats is comparing the beauty and truth of this urn to the beauty and truth of his poetry, which he considers a work of art. Also, this beauty remains and is immortal because the paintings will always be on the urn, just as the nightingale is immortal because it will forever keep reproducing and playing different roles in the lives of people present and future. By putting his work on paper, he is making is art immortal as well.
Also, the paintings on the urn describe different stories from the past. There are Greek lovers and musicians frozen in time "for ever piping songs for ever new/more happy love! more happy, happy love!" (Keats). These beautiful scenes are immortal pieces of art because they still live on this urn that has been around for hundreds of years. He connects this beauty with is own artistic endeavor, his poetry.
At last, the ending of this poem shows that art, whether paintings or poems is immortal. This immortality triumphs over "the weariness, the fever, the fret" that is descrided in "Ode to a Nightingale." The reason this art triumphs is because although the nightingale will always be around, he can't make it. He can't call the bird his and claim it as his own. There is no beauty or truth to the bird because it will never be his. But he realizes that the art, his poetry, is his. He can sign his name to it and write it on paper. The poerty then causes the "weariness" and "fret" to disappear because he knows that it is immortal.
