John Keats

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

John Keats Poems

41. Sonnet To Homer 3/23/2010
42. Sonnet: Before He Went 3/23/2010
43. Ode. Written On The Blank Page Before Beaumont And Fletcher's Tragi-Comedy 'The Fair Maid Of The Inn' 3/23/2010
44. Sonnet Vi. To G. A. W. 3/23/2010
45. On Hearing The Bag-Pipe And Seeing 3/23/2010
46. Sonnet Iv. How Many Bards Gild The Lapses Of Time! 3/23/2010
47. Sonnet To The Nile 3/23/2010
48. Sonnet On Sitting Down To Read King Lear Once Again 3/23/2010
49. Two Or Three 3/23/2010
50. Stanzas. In A Drear-Nighted December 3/29/2010
51. Sonnet I. To My Brother George 3/23/2010
52. Stanzas To Miss Wylie 3/23/2010
53. Two Sonnets. To Haydon, With A Sonnet Written On Seeing The Elgin Marbles 3/23/2010
54. Sonnet Iii. Written On The Day That Mr. Leigh Hunt Left Prison 3/23/2010
55. Daisy's Song 2/4/2016
56. On Visiting The Tomb Of Burns 3/23/2010
57. Staffa 3/23/2010
58. The Cap And Bells; Or, The Jealousies: A Faery Tale -- Unfinished 3/23/2010
59. To **** 3/23/2010
60. Imitation Of Spenser 3/23/2010
61. Sonnet. Written On A Blank Page In Shakespeare's Poems, Facing 'A Lover's Complaint' 3/23/2010
62. Fragment Of 3/29/2010
63. Fragment Of An Ode To Maia. Written On May Day 1818 3/29/2010
64. Sonnet Ii. To ****** 3/23/2010
65. To -------. 3/23/2010
66. On Receiving A Laurel Crown From Leigh Hunt 3/23/2010
67. Sonnet V. To A Friend Who Sent Me Some Roses 3/23/2010
68. Sonnet: As From The Darkening Gloom A Silver Dove 3/23/2010
69. The Gadfly 3/23/2010
70. Sonnet. To A Young Lady Who Sent Me A Laurel Crown 3/23/2010
71. Sonnet Vii. To Solitude 3/23/2010
72. Lines On Seeing A Lock Of Milton's Hair 3/23/2010
73. Sonnet To Chatterton 3/23/2010
74. Isabella; Or, The Pot Of Basil: A Story From Boccaccio 3/29/2010
75. Fragment Of 'The Castle Builder.' 3/23/2010
76. Sonnet. Why Did I Laugh Tonight? 3/23/2010
77. Hyperion. Book Ii 3/29/2010
78. Sonnet To George Keats: Written In Sickness 3/23/2010
79. Epistle To John Hamilton Reynolds 3/23/2010
80. Extracts From An Opera 3/23/2010

Comments about John Keats

  • Grayson Goss (3/20/2018 1:46:00 PM)

    This poet has forver changed my life. No one else can write as he did. He is the Tom Bombadil of poetry. He is one of a kind. Every single line I read I can't help but shed a tear, not from sadness, but from amazement. I aspire to write poetry as Keats did. This sounds weird but i feel as if Keats will sometimes talk through me. A teacher once told me Listen class this is just a poem, and without hesitation Keats spoke through me and said it is never just a poem.
    -GraysonGossBoss

    10 person liked.
    6 person did not like.
  • Joshua Adeyemi Joshua Adeyemi (3/4/2018 3:13:00 PM)

    My poems have often being liken to this man's poems...

    And I stopped to wait by... And see who he is...

    Well... He's one of them!

  • Fuck who made this web (2/27/2018 11:00:00 AM)

    Jzhahshzhzjzhxhzjch

  • shut the f*uck your mom (2/22/2018 4:24:00 PM)

    this is a test HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

  • Shubham kute patil (2/21/2018 12:54:00 AM)

    It is historical movement

  • Sangam polkamwad (2/19/2018 11:33:00 PM)

    Superb

  • HARERAM PANDIT (2/18/2018 3:51:00 AM)

    Very nice

  • Hareram Pandit (2/18/2018 3:50:00 AM)

    Very. Nice

  • Taib ali (12/17/2017 7:15:00 AM)

    Very good

  • Rounak pai (12/9/2017 10:41:00 PM)

    Very good

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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