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Poetry by John Keats


John Keats who lived a very short life was born in Moorfields, England on October 29, 1796. At a very young age of eight or nine young John's father passed away and while still a young lad he lost his mother as well.

Poetry did not become something that was apparent on the young John Keats until he realized his poetic abilities till he was eighteen years of age. It was the poem the Fairy Queen by Spenser that awakened his genius for creative poetry.

John Keats from the moment that he began to read the works of other poets like Chaucer, Spenser and Shakespeare who became his household gods. It was in the spring of 1817 that he wrote to his brothers that he was relinquishing his profession as a surgeon upon discovering that he was unfit to perform a surgery.

Some of his first poems were shown by a friend to the editor of the Examiner who was instantly aware of the young John Keats talent. Together with praise from many others he was induced to prepare for the press a small volume which would appear in the summer of 1817 and while it was publishing, he had written the first book of Endymion.

It was an unmistakable sign of consumption in February, 1820 that would break all the plans for the future of John Keats. By the late summer of 1820 he was ordered by his doctors to avoid the forthcoming English winter and for him to move to Italy.

By moving to Italy his health did improve momentarily but he would finally succumbed and died in Rome on February 23, 1821. He was buried in the Protestant Cemetary in Rome near the grave of Caius Cestius with the following lines engraved on his headstone: "Here lies one whose name was writ in water".

The following are some of the love poems that were written by the short lived Romantic Poet John Keats.

Bright Star, Would I Were Steadfast as Thou Art


Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient sleepless eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors;
No yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever or else swoon to death.

When I Have Fears That I May Cease To Be


When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

Think Of It Not, Sweet One


THINK not of it, sweet one, so;---
Give it not a tear;
Sigh thou mayst, and bid it go
Any---anywhere.


Do not lool so sad, sweet one,---
Sad and fadingly;
Shed one drop then,---it is gone---
O 'twas born to die!


Still so pale? then, dearest, weep;
Weep, I'll count the tears,
And each one shall be a bliss
For thee in after years.


Brighter has it left thine eyes
Than a sunny rill;
And thy whispering melodies
Are tenderer still.


Yet---as all things mourn awhile
At fleeting blisses,
E'en let us too! but be our dirge
A dirge of kisses.




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