Treasure Island

John Keats

(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821 / London, England)

Comments about John Keats

Enter the verification code :

  • Bambam Yadav (3/16/2010 10:21:00 AM)

    John keats is one of the such raomantic poet who never put himself under restriction of versification.Keats achieved mastery in spontaneous voices of hearts.He seemed to us the best romantic as well as classic in his composition.His extraordinary verses, of course, takes us in the stream of realization.

    11 person liked.
    19 person did not like.
  • Subrata Ray (2/25/2010 9:43:00 AM)

    Keats is an artist.He is original in his own way.He leaves no theory of poetry as Wordsworth does.His conception of beauty as revealed in Ode to Grecian Urn is a discovery.
    His few poems bear with them the stamp of his genius.Every where, we find, the qualities like, Medieval ism, Hellenism, word-painting, sensuousness, and aestheticism, etc.The ode to Nightingale, seems to be the representative poem of the poet.
    Had Keats not an earlier death, he could have contributed to the world the fruits of his excellency.
    Subrata Ray.Mousumipara.Uluberia.West.Bengal.India.

  • Abel Enokela (2/5/2010 6:22:00 AM)

    John Keats is great poet; though dead he is still a great influence in poetry in all ages

  • Lalit Patel (7/31/2009 11:12:00 PM)

    Dear Sir,

    I need similar poems of the Human Seasons. Pls mail me as earlier becos its very urgent for me

    Thanks

  • Silly Tony (5/6/2009 11:32:00 PM)

    John Keats, a beautiful name, a handsome man, during his short life created a lot of memorable poems.

  • p.a. noushad (8/1/2008 3:48:00 AM)

    your poems I read again and again, a nice experience.

  • p.a. noushad (8/1/2008 3:40:00 AM)

    your poems are heart touching and romantic.

  • Rohan R (7/29/2008 10:01:00 AM)

    Gifted poet that touches the painful hearts

  • p.a. noushad (7/14/2008 3:58:00 AM)

    Dear keats I love your poems again and again.

  • p.a. noushad (6/14/2008 1:44:00 AM)

    romantic touch with painful realities.

To My Brothers

Small, busy flames play through the fresh laid coals,
And their faint cracklings o'er our silence creep
Like whispers of the household gods that keep
A gentle empire o'er fraternal souls.
And while, for rhymes, I search around the poles,
Your eyes are fix d, as in poetic sleep,
Upon the lore so voluble and deep,
That aye at fall of night our care condoles.
This is your birth-day Tom, and I rejoice

[Hata Bildir]