Treasure Island

John Keats

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

Keen, Fitful Gusts are Whisp'ring Here and There


Keen, fitful gusts are whisp'ring here and there
Among the bushes half leafless, and dry;
The stars look very cold about the sky,
And I have many miles on foot to fare.
Yet feel I little of the cool bleak air,
Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily,
Or of those silver lamps that burn on high,
Or of the distance from home's pleasant lair:
For I am brimfull of the friendliness
That in a little cottage I have found;
Of fair-hair'd Milton's eloquent distress,
And all his love for gentle Lycid drown'd;
Of lovely Laura in her light green dress,
And faithful Petrarch gloriously crown'd.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

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  • Rosemary Kenny (11/14/2009 1:29:00 PM)

    I found this poem very moving- despite having to walk many miles home on a freezing cold night, Keats is untroubled, and blissfully unaware of the cold, or even the stars in the night sky above him because he is in an emotional reverie created by the friendliness and warmth he has encountered in a little cottage, reading and discussing poetry with his friends. This is warming him from within and lifting his spirits immensely. We can also share in his joy and enlightenment. (Report) Reply

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