Poems List

To-

To-

Had I a man's fair form, then might my sighs
Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell,
Thine ear, and find thy gentle heart; so well
Would passion arm me for the enterprise:
But ah! I am no knight whose foeman dies;
No cuirass glistens on my bosom's swell;
I am no happy shepherd of the dell
Whose lips have trembled with a maiden's eyes.
Yet must I dote upon thee,-call thee sweet,
Sweeter by far than Hybla's honied roses
When steeped in dew rich to intoxication.
Ah! I will taste that dew, for me 'tis meet,
And when the moon her pallid face discloses,
I'll gather some by spells, and incantation.
348

To Solitude

To Solitude

O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep, -


Nature's observatory -- whence the dell,

Its flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
'Mongst boughs pavilion'd, where the deer's swift leap

Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.

But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refin'd,

Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.
445

To The Ladies Who Saw Me Crowned

To The Ladies Who Saw Me Crowned

WHAT is there in the universal Earth
More lovely than a Wreath from the bay tree?
Haply a Halo round the Moon a glee
Circling from three sweet pair of Lips in Mirth;
And haply you will say the dewy birth
Of morning Roses ripplings tenderly
Spread by the Halcyon's breast upon the Sea
But these Comparisons are nothing worth
Then is there nothing in the world so fair?
The silvery tears of April? Youth of May?
Or June that breathes out life for butterflies?
No none of these can from my favourite bear
Away the Palm yet shall it ever pay
Due Reverence to your most sovereign eyes.
417

To My Brother George

To My Brother George

Many the wonders I this day have seen:
The sun, when first he kissed away the tears
That filled the eyes of Morn;-the laurelled peers
Who from the feathery gold of evening lean;-
The ocean with its vastness, its blue green,
Its ships, its rocks, its caves, its hopes, its fears,
Its voice mysterious, which whoso hears
Must think on what will be, and what has been.
E'en now, dear George, while this for you I write,
Cynthia is from her silken curtains peeping
So scantly, that it seems her bridal night,
And she her half-discovered revels keeping.
But what, without the social thought of thee,
Would be the wonders of the sky and sea?
453

To one who has been long in city pent

To one who has been long in city pent

To one who has been long in city pent,
'Tis very sweet to look into the fair
And open face of heaven,--to breathe a prayer

Full in the smile of the blue firmament.

Who is more happy, when, with heart's content,
Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair
Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair

And gentle tale of love and languishment?
Returning home at evening, with an ear
Catching the notes of Philomel,--an eye
Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career,
He mourns that day so soon has glided by:
E'en like the passage of an angel's tear
That falls through the clear ether silently.
404

To John Hamilton Reynolds

To John Hamilton Reynolds

O that a week could be an age, and we
Felt parting and warm meeting every week,
Then one poor year a thousand years would be,
The flush of welcome ever on the cheek:
So could we live long life in little space,
So time itself would be annihilate,
So a day's journey in oblivious haze
To serve ourjoys would lengthen and dilate.
O to arrive each Monday morn from Ind!
To land each Tuesday from the rich Levant!
In little time a host of joys to bind,
And keep our souls in one eternal pant!
This morn, my friend, and yester-evening taught
Me how to harbour such a happy thought.
438

To Homer

To Homer

Standing aloof in giant ignorance,
Of thee I hear and of the Cyclades,
As one who sits ashore and longs perchance
To visit dolphin-coral in deep seas.
So thou wast blind;--but then the veil was rent,
For Jove uncurtain'd Heaven to let thee live,
And Neptune made for thee a spumy tent,
And Pan made sing for thee his forest-hive;
Aye on the shores of darkness there is light,
And precipices show untrodden green,
There is a budding morrow in midnight,

There is a triple sight in blindness keen;
Such seeing hadst thou, as it once befel
To Dian, Queen of Earth, and Heaven, and Hell.
449

To Fanny

To Fanny

I cry your mercy-pity-love!-aye, love!
Merciful love that tantalizes not,
One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love,
Unmasked, and being seen-without a blot!
O! let me have thee whole,-all-all-be mine!
That shape, that fairness, that sweet minor zest
Of love, your kiss,-those hands, those eyes divine,
That warm, white, lucent, million-pleasured breast,Yourself-
your soul-in pity give me all,
Withhold no atom's atom or I die,
Or living on, perhaps, your wretched thrall,
Forget, in the mist of idle misery,
Life's purposes,-the palate of my mind
Losing its gust, and my ambition blind!
437

To George Felton Mathew

To George Felton Mathew

Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong,
And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song;
Nor can remembrance, Mathew! bring to view
A fate more pleasing, a delight more true
Than that in which the brother Poets joy'd,
Who with combined powers, their wit employ'd
To raise a trophy to the drama's muses.
The thought of this great partnership diffuses
Over the genius loving heart, a feeling
Of all that's high, and great, and good, and healing.


Too partial friend! fain would I follow thee
Past each horizon of fine poesy;
Fain would I echo back each pleasant note
As o'er Sicilian seas, clear anthems float
'Mong the light skimming gondolas far parted,
Just when the sun his farewell beam has darted:
But 'tis impossible, far different cares
Beckon me sternly from soft 'Lydian airs,'
And hold my faculties so long in thrall,
That I am oft in doubt whether at all
I shall again see Phoebus in the morning:
Or flush'd Aurora in the roseate dawning!
Or a white Naiad in a rippling stream;
Or a rapt seraph in a moonlight beam;
Or again witness what with thee I've seen,
The dew by fairy feet swept from the green,
After a night of some quaint jubilee
Which every elf and fay had come to see:
When bright processions took their airy march
Beneath the curved moon's triumphal arch.


But might I now each passing moment give
To the coy muse, with me she would not live
In this dark city, nor would condescend
'Mid contradictions her delights to lend.
Should e'er the fine-eyed maid to me be kind,
Ah! surely it must be whene'er I find
Some flowery spot, sequester'd, wild, romantic,
That often must have seen a poet frantic;
Where oaks, that erst the Druid knew, are growing,
And flowers, the glory of one day, are blowing;
Where the dark-leav'd laburnum's drooping clusters
Reflect athwart the stream their yellow lustres,
And intertwined the cassia's arms unite,
With its own drooping buds, but very white.
Where on one side are covert branches hung,
'Mong which the nightingales have always sung
In leafy quiet; where to pry, aloof,
Atween the pillars of the sylvan roof,
Would be to find where violet beds were nestling,
And where the bee with cowslip bells was wrestling.



There must be too a ruin dark, and gloomy,
To say 'joy not too much in all that's bloomy.'


Yet this is vain--O Mathew lend thy aid
To find a place where I may greet the maid--
Where we may soft humanity put on,
And sit, and rhyme and think on Chatterton;
And that warm-hearted Shakspeare sent to meet him
Four laurell'd spirits, heaven-ward to intreat him.
With reverence would we speak of all the sages
Who have left streaks of light athwart their ages:
And thou shouldst moralize on Milton's blindness,
And mourn the fearful dearth of human kindness
To those who strove with the bright golden wing
Of genius, to flap away each sting
Thrown by the pitiless world. We next could tell
Of those who in the cause of freedom fell;
Of our own Alfred, of Helvetian Tell;
Of him whose name to ev'ry heart's a solace,
High-minded and unbending William Wallace.
While to the rugged north our musing turns
We well might drop a tear for him, and Burns.


Felton! without incitements such as these,
How vain for me the niggard Muse to tease;
For thee, she will thy every dwelling grace,
And make 'a sunshine in a shady place:'
For thou wast once a flowret blooming wild,
Close to the source, bright, pure, and undefil'd,
Whence gush the streams of song: in happy hour
Came chaste Diana from her shady bower,
Just as the sun was from the east uprising;
And, as for him some gift she was devising,
Beheld thee, pluck'd thee, cast thee in the stream
To meet her glorious brother’s greeting beam.
I marvel much that thou hast never told
How, from a flower, into a fish of gold
Apollo chang'd thee; how thou next didst seem
A black-eyed swan upon the widening stream;
And when thou first didst in that mirror trace
The placid features of a human face:
That thou hast never told thy travels strange,
And all the wonders of the mazy range
O’er pebbly crystal, and o'er golden sands;
Kissing thy daily food from Naiad’s pearly hands.
440

To Ailsa Rock

To Ailsa Rock

Hearken, thou craggy ocean-pyramid,
Give answer by thy voice-the sea-fowls' screams!
When were thy shoulders mantled in huge streams?
When from the sun was thy broad forehead hid?
How long is't since the mighty Power bid
Thee heave to airy sleep from fathom dreams-
Sleep in the lap of thunder or sunbeams-
Or when grey clouds are thy cold coverlid!
Thou answer'st not; for thou art dead asleep.
Thy life is but two dead eternities,
The last in air, the former in the deep!
First with the whales, last with the eagle-skies!
Drowned wast thou till an earthquake made thee steep,
Another cannot wake thy giant-size!
368

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Identification and basic context

John Keats was a pivotal English Romantic poet. He is often grouped with Lord Byron and Percy Bysshe Shelley as the second generation of great Romantic poets. Despite his short life, his poetry achieved remarkable depth and beauty, making him one of the most influential figures in English literature. He wrote primarily in English and is celebrated for his rich imagery, exploration of beauty and truth, and his profound meditations on life and death.

Childhood and education

Keats's childhood was marked by tragedy, including the early death of his father and later his mother. He received a sound education at John Clarke's school in Enfield, where he developed a passion for classical literature. His early readings of Edmund Spenser's 'The Faerie Queene' and later the works of Leigh Hunt and William Wordsworth were significant influences. He also studied Latin and Greek, which informed his classical allusions and aesthetic sensibilities.

Literary trajectory

Keats initially trained as an apothecary-surgeon but abandoned medicine to pursue poetry. His first volume of poems, 'Poems,' was published in 1817, receiving a mixed reception. His major works, including 'Endymion,' 'The Fall of Hyperion,' and his collection of 1820 (containing his most famous odes), were produced in a remarkably fertile period. Despite critical hostility from some quarters, his poetic development was rapid and profound, moving from imitative beginnings to a unique and powerful voice.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Keats's major works include the epic poem 'Hyperion,' the narrative poem 'Endymion,' and his series of celebrated odes: 'Ode to a Nightingale,' 'Ode on a Grecian Urn,' 'To Autumn,' 'Ode on Melancholy,' and 'Ode to Psyche.' His poetry is characterized by its intense sensory appeal, its exploration of beauty and its relationship to truth, and its meditations on mortality, joy, and sorrow. He employed rich, evocative language, elaborate metaphors, and a mastery of form, particularly the sonnet and the ode. His tone often ranges from ecstatic celebration of beauty to profound melancholy and existential questioning. Keats's innovation lay in his deep sensuousness and his philosophical engagement with the paradoxes of human experience.

Cultural and historical context

Keats was part of the second wave of English Romanticism, a movement that emphasized individualism, emotion, and the power of imagination. He was influenced by contemporary Romantics like Wordsworth and Coleridge, but also by classical literature. His work emerged during a period of significant social and political change in Britain, though his focus remained largely on aesthetic and philosophical concerns rather than direct political engagement. He faced harsh criticism from conservative periodicals like 'Blackwood's Magazine,' which attacked his perceived lack of breeding and his association with radical writers like Leigh Hunt.

Personal life

Keats's personal life was shadowed by illness and financial hardship. His engagement to Fanny Brawne was a significant emotional experience, providing inspiration for some of his most poignant love poetry, but also a source of anxiety due to his precarious health and financial situation. He nursed his brother Tom through tuberculosis and eventually succumbed to the disease himself, dying in Rome.

Recognition and reception

While Keats achieved some recognition during his lifetime, his work was not widely celebrated and even faced severe criticism. However, posthumously, his reputation grew exponentially. By the mid-19th century, he was recognized as one of the greatest English poets, admired for his imaginative power and aesthetic perfection. His influence on subsequent poets and literary movements has been immense.

Influences and legacy

Keats was influenced by classical poets like Homer and Virgil, as well as by English poets such as Spenser, Shakespeare, and Wordsworth. He, in turn, had a profound influence on later poets, including Alfred Lord Tennyson, Matthew Arnold, and the Aesthetic Movement. His legacy is cemented in his exquisite odes and sonnets, which continue to be studied, admired, and cherished for their exploration of beauty, truth, and the human condition. His concept of 'negative capability'—the ability to be in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason—is a significant contribution to literary theory.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Keats's poetry is subject to continuous critical interpretation, focusing on themes of beauty versus truth, the relationship between art and life, the experience of mortality, and the power of the imagination. His 'Ode on a Grecian Urn,' with its famous closing lines, has been particularly debated. His work is often analyzed for its rich sensory details, its exploration of complex emotional states, and its profound philosophical inquiries into the nature of existence.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Keats's early ambition was to become a great poet, and he pursued this goal with remarkable dedication despite immense personal obstacles. He was known for his intense, almost feverish, creative periods. His letters reveal a deep intellectual curiosity and a profound sensitivity to beauty. A lesser-known aspect is his intense rivalry and admiration for Wordsworth, whom he saw as a great poet, yet sometimes criticized.

Death and memory

John Keats died of tuberculosis in Rome at the age of 25. His premature death contributed to his romantic legend and his status as a poet whose genius was cut short. He was buried in the Protestant Cemetery in Rome. His memory is honored through numerous literary studies, critical editions of his work, and the enduring appreciation of his poetry by readers worldwide.