The Grave Of Keats
RID of the world's injustice, and his pain,
He rests at last beneath God's veil of blue:
Taken from life when life and love were new
The youngest of the martyrs here is lain,
Fair as Sebastian, and as early slain.
No cypress shades his grave, no funeral yew,
But gentle violets weeping with the dew
Weave on his bones an ever-blossoming chain.
O proudest heart that broke for misery!
O sweetest lips since those of Mitylene!
O poet-painter of our English Land!
Thy name was writ in water----it shall stand:
And tears like mine will keep thy memory green,
As Isabella did her Basil-tree.
Oscar Wilde's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (The Grave Of Keats by Oscar Wilde )
Did you read them?
- f' my life i hate this place, shannon strauss
- Pulmonary Hypertension, Strydar Enox
- Depths Unknown, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- English ‘hope', douglas scotney
- Looking for a new land, gajanan mishra
- Let Vishwakarma Be With, The Divine Mast.., Bijay Kant Dubey
- TWIRLING WANDS, shannon strauss
- Same As My Heart, Rose Lu ( Bing Hua )
- You are the Best!, Rachel Nichols
- Close not, gajanan mishra