When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has gleaned…
John Keats

John Keats
John Keats, who died at the age of twenty-five, had perhaps the most remarkable career of any English poet. He published only fifty-four poems, in three slim volumes and a few magazines. But at each point in his development he took on the challenges of a wide range of poetic forms from the sonnet, to the Spenserian romance, to the Miltonic epic, defining anew their possibilities with his own distinctive fusion of earnest energy, control of conflicting perspectives and forces, poetic self-consciousness, and, occasionally, dry ironic wit. In the case of the English ode he brought its form, in the five great odes of 1819, to its most perfect definition. Read More
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O soft embalmer of the still midnight, Shutting, with careful fingers and benign, Our gloom-pleas’d…
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To one who has been long in city pent, ‘Tis very sweet to look into…
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Standing aloof in giant ignorance, Of thee I hear and of the Cyclades, As one…
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I cry your mercy—pity—love! Aye, love! Merciful love that tantalizes not, One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love,…
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Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how…
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This living hand, now warm and capable Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold…
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Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; There are four seasons in the mind…
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St. Agnes’ Eve—Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was…
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The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone! Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft…