The Poetical Works of John KeatsWiley & Putnam, 1847 - 256 pages |
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... ROSES 238 TO G. A. W. 238 WRITTEN ON THE DAY THAT MR . LEIGH HUNT LEFT PRISON 239 TO MY BROTHERS . 239 ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER • 240 ON LEAVING SOME FRIENDS AT AN EARLY HOUR 240 PAGE " KEEN FITFUL GUSTS ARE WHISPERING HERE ...
... ROSES 238 TO G. A. W. 238 WRITTEN ON THE DAY THAT MR . LEIGH HUNT LEFT PRISON 239 TO MY BROTHERS . 239 ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER • 240 ON LEAVING SOME FRIENDS AT AN EARLY HOUR 240 PAGE " KEEN FITFUL GUSTS ARE WHISPERING HERE ...
Page 3
... rose blooms : And such too is the grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead ; All lovely tales that we have heard or read : An endless fountain of immortal drink , Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink . Nor do we ...
... rose blooms : And such too is the grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead ; All lovely tales that we have heard or read : An endless fountain of immortal drink , Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink . Nor do we ...
Page 14
... rose , and sank , And dipt again , with the young couple's weight , - Peona guiding , through the water straight , Towards a bowery island opposite ; Which gaining presently , she steered light Into a shady , fresh , and ripply cove ...
... rose , and sank , And dipt again , with the young couple's weight , - Peona guiding , through the water straight , Towards a bowery island opposite ; Which gaining presently , she steered light Into a shady , fresh , and ripply cove ...
Page 19
... rose From out her cradle shell . The wind out - blows Her scarf into a fluttering pavilion ; ' Tis blue , and over - spangled with a million Of little eyes , as though thou wert to shed , Over the darkest , lushest blue - bell bed ...
... rose From out her cradle shell . The wind out - blows Her scarf into a fluttering pavilion ; ' Tis blue , and over - spangled with a million Of little eyes , as though thou wert to shed , Over the darkest , lushest blue - bell bed ...
Page 21
... rose had blown In frightful scarlet , and its thorns outgrown Like spiked aloe . If an innocent bird Before my heedless footsteps stirr'd , and stirr'd In little journeys , I beheld in it A disguised demon , missioned to knit My soul ...
... rose had blown In frightful scarlet , and its thorns outgrown Like spiked aloe . If an innocent bird Before my heedless footsteps stirr'd , and stirr'd In little journeys , I beheld in it A disguised demon , missioned to knit My soul ...
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Common terms and phrases
adieu Apollo Art thou Bacchus beauty beneath bliss blue bower breast breath bright Carian clouds cool Corinth dark deep delight divine dost doth dream earth EDWARD MOXON Elysium Enceladus Endymion eyes face faint fair fear feel flowers forest gentle Goddess golden green grief hair hand happy head heart heaven hour Hyperion immortal JOHN KEATS kiss Lamia leaves LEIGH HUNT light lips lone lute Lycius lyre melodies morning mortal Muse Naiad never night nymph o'er pain pale pass'd PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE pinions pleasant pleasure rill rose round Saturn Scylla seem'd shade sigh silent silver sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul spake spirit stars stept stood strange streams sweet tears tell tender thee thine things thou art thou hast thought trees trembling twas voice weep whence whispering wild wind wings wonders young youth
Popular passages
Page 123 - Do not all charms fly At the mere touch of cold philosophy? There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture; she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine— Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made The tender-person'd Lamia melt into a shade.
Page 1 - A THING of beauty is a joy for ever : Its loveliness increases ; it will never Pass into nothingness ; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Page 1 - Made for our searching : yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon For simple sheep ; and such are daffodils With the green world they live in...
Page 202 - Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain To thy high requiem become a sod.
Page 213 - I have heard that on a day Mine host's sign-board flew away, Nobody knew whither, till An astrologer's old quill To a sheepskin gave the story,— Said he saw you in your glory, Underneath a new old-sign Sipping beverage divine, And pledging with contented smack The Mermaid in the Zodiac.
Page 211 - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, — While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft ; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Page 202 - Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird ! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas in faery lands forlorn.
Page 211 - Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind ; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers...
Page 2 - We have imagined for the mighty dead; All lovely tales that we have heard or read : An endless fountain of immortal drink, Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink. Nor do we merely feel these essences For one short hour; no, even as the trees That whisper round a temple become soon Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon, The passion poesy, glories infinite...
Page 145 - Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy, Even to Madeline's chamber, and there hide Him in a closet, of such privacy...