Treasure Island

John Keats

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

Ode to Fanny


Physician Nature! Let my spirit blood!
O ease my heart of verse and let me rest;
Throw me upon thy Tripod, till the flood
Of stifling numbers ebbs from my full breast.
A theme! a theme! great nature! give a theme;
Let me begin my dream.
I come -- I see thee, as thou standest there,
Beckon me not into the wintry air.

Ah! dearest love, sweet home of all my fears,
And hopes, and joys, and panting miseries, --
To-night, if I may guess, thy beauty wears
A smile of such delight,
As brilliant and as bright,
As when with ravished, aching, vassal eyes,
Lost in soft amaze,
I gaze, I gaze!

Who now, with greedy looks, eats up my feast?
What stare outfaces now my silver moon!
Ah! keep that hand unravished at the least;
Let, let, the amorous burn --
But pr'ythee, do not turn
The current of your heart from me so soon.
O! save, in charity,
The quickest pulse for me.

Save it for me, sweet love! though music breathe
Voluptuous visions into the warm air;
Though swimming through the dance's dangerous wreath,
Be like an April day,
Smiling and cold and gay,
A temperate lilly, temperate as fair;
Then, Heaven! there will be
A warmer June for me.

Why, this, you'll say, my Fanny! is not true:
Put your soft hand upon your snowy side,
Where the heart beats: confess -- 'tis nothing new --
Must not a woman be
A feather on the sea,
Sway'd to and fro by every wind and tide?
Of as uncertain speed
As blow-ball from the mead?

I know it -- and to know it is despair
To one who loves you as I love, sweet Fanny!
Whose heart goes fluttering for you every where,
Nor, when away you roam,
Dare keep its wretched home,
Love, love alone, his pains severe and many:
Then, loveliest! keep me free,
From torturing jealousy.

Ah! if you prize my subdued soul above
The poor, the fading, brief, pride of an hour;
Let none profane my Holy See of love,
Or with a rude hand break
The sacramental cake:
Let none else touch the just new-budded flower;
If not -- may my eyes close,
Love! on their lost repose.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

Do you like this poem?
3 person liked.
0 person did not like.

What do you think this poem is about?



Read poems about / on: swimming, june, nature, april, lost, home, despair, dance, flower, pride, silver, music, woman, ode, moon, smile, heart, dream, beauty, heaven

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Ode to Fanny by John Keats )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

New Poems

  1. I Am Afraid, Amitava Sur
  2. How then?, Alem Hailu Gabre Kristos
  3. Cholesterol, Dr PJ Raj Kamal
  4. A Confession, Pradip Chattopadhyay
  5. My Dog Lays at My Feet, David McLansky
  6. Asthi-Kalasha, Bijay Kant Dubey
  7. And We Came to Pass, Abdulrasaq Akingbo Okanlambe
  8. Praising a Poet, 'me' by a Co-Poet!, Dr.V.K. Kanniappan
  9. My Dog Lays at My Feet, David McLansky
  10. The two I trust (sonnet), Tinashe Mupedzapasi

Poem of the Day

poet Rupert Brooke

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
...... Read complete »

   

Trending Poems

  1. 04 Tongues Made Of Glass, Shaun Shane
  2. Daffodils, William Wordsworth
  3. The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
  4. If, Rudyard Kipling
  5. Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
  6. Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
  7. Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
  8. All the World's a Stage, William Shakespeare
  9. A Poison Tree, William Blake
  10. 1914 V: The Soldier, Rupert Brooke

Trending Poets

[Hata Bildir]