John Keats

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

John Keats Poems

201. To Hope 12/31/2002
202. A Draught Of Sunshine 3/22/2010
203. On The Sea 1/3/2003
204. Happy Is England! I Could Be Content 1/3/2003
205. A Party Of Lovers 3/22/2010
206. Written On A Summer Evening 1/3/2003
207. Give Me Women, Wine, And Snuff 1/3/2003
208. Fancy 12/31/2002
209. La Belle Dame Sans Merci 12/31/2002
210. A Song About Myself 3/22/2010
211. His Last Sonnet 1/3/2003
212. Ode To Autumn 12/31/2002
213. Ode On A Grecian Urn 12/31/2002
214. Ode To A Nightingale 12/31/2002
215. When I Have Fears 12/31/2002
216. Bright Star 12/31/2002
217. A Thing Of Beauty (Endymion) 1/3/2003

Comments about John Keats

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

    romantic touch with painful realities.

    4 person liked.
    9 person did not like.
  • Javier Alonso (6/7/2008 10:12:00 PM)

    great use of imagery.
    you definitely got me to imagine everything going on

    good job!

  • Donny S (6/28/2006 2:09:00 AM)

    Keats.....is definitely one of my favourite poets......I know that, a friend of mine, named Jayan in India dotes on him.......

  • Vikram Aarella - The Poem Shooter (6/1/2006 2:37:00 PM)

    Keats will remain one of my favourite authors.

Best Poem of John Keats

A Thing Of Beauty (Endymion)

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its lovliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkn'd ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, ...

Read the full of A Thing Of Beauty (Endymion)

Hyperion

BOOK I
DEEP in the shady sadness of a vale
Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn,
Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star,
Sat gray-hair'd Saturn, quiet as a stone,
Still as the silence round about his lair;
Forest on forest hung above his head
Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there,
Not so much life as on a summer's day

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