John Keats

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

John Keats Poems

121. I Stood Tip-Toe Upon A Little Hill 3/23/2010
122. Written Before Re-Reading King Lear 1/13/2003
123. Keen, Fitful Gusts Are Whisp'Ring Here And There 1/3/2003
124. To Ailsa Rock 1/13/2003
125. To My Brother George 1/13/2003
126. To Byron 1/3/2003
127. To&Mdash; 1/13/2003
128. To Homer 12/31/2002
129. Stanzas 1/4/2003
130. If By Dull Rhymes Our English Must Be Chain'D 12/31/2002
131. Lines From Endymion 1/3/2003
132. Faery Songs 3/23/2010
133. To One Who Has Been Long In City Pent 12/31/2002
134. Lines On The Mermaid Tavern 12/31/2002
135. Calidore: A Fragment 3/23/2010
136. Written On The Day That Mr Leigh Hunt Left Prison 1/3/2003
137. To My Brothers 1/3/2003
138. On Sitting Down To Read King Lear Once Again 12/31/2002
139. Ode On Melancholy 3/29/2010
140. To Mrs Reynolds' Cat 1/3/2003
141. Ben Nevis: A Dialogue 3/22/2010
142. On Seeing The Elgin Marbles For The First Time 1/3/2003
143. On Leaving Some Friends At An Early Hour 1/13/2003
144. Lines 12/31/2002
145. Meg Merrilies 12/31/2002
146. Written On A Blank Space 1/3/2003
147. How Many Bards Gild The Lapses Of Time! 1/13/2003
148. In Drear-Nighted December 12/31/2002
149. To A Friend Who Sent Me Some Roses 1/13/2003
150. To The Nile 1/3/2003
151. Robin Hood 12/31/2002
152. Endymion: Book Iv 1/13/2003
153. Endymion: Book Iii 1/13/2003
154. Last Sonnet 1/4/2003
155. Ode On Indolence 12/31/2002
156. Why Did I Laugh Tonight? No Voice Will Tell 1/3/2003
157. A Prophecy: To George Keats In America 3/22/2010
158. The Day Is Gone, And All Its Sweets Are Gone 1/13/2003
159. Hyperion 12/31/2002
160. To Sleep 12/31/2002

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  • Vineet Chhikara Vineet Chhikara (5/27/2013 1:39:00 AM)

    Have a look at my poems... and rate them... i am sure you will like them.... :)

  • Shama Bukhari (9/17/2012 8:23:00 AM)

    Though wast born for death....

  • Shama Bukhari (9/17/2012 8:22:00 AM)

    though wast not born for death so truly said..

  • Shama Bukhari (9/17/2012 8:22:00 AM)

    though wast not born for death so truly said..

  • Shama Bukhari (9/17/2012 8:16:00 AM)

    though Wast born for death...... Keats! You died so early..... A honest and truthful poet needs thousand years to display his or her vision.... All his work is commendable.....

  • Ryan Walker (8/17/2012 10:57:00 PM)

    I can't remember who said it, but someone said Keats' To Autumn is the most anthologized poem in the English language. I personally understand why, it is a break from the traditional view of Autumn prevalent in literature, that it is a time of death and misery, awaiting Winter. Instead, he writes it is the time of Harvest, from a long Summer, preparing for the Winter. After all, Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find thee sitting, carless on a granary floor.

  • Christian Torres (7/5/2012 9:41:00 PM)

    When thy chest did plummet its airy last
    and thy sweet brow fell forever 'pon thine eye
    a fairy gleam from each leafy nook was stolen
    and each breathing thing did expel a broken sigh.

    Thy azure pall, ethereal in the wind
    did surely catch some glint of weeping sky
    as ye were laid in the bosom of the Earth
    and bade the unborn leaves goodbye.

    Are ye transformed into thine own Endymion?
    Do ye wander the chiming isles of Greece?
    Or the pathways of Heaven, hand in hand with Milton
    Thy head laid on pillows of the softest golden fleece?

    For the toil of thy precious heart
    shall be a joy forever.
    Ne'er to be by a hateful word
    or fickle centuries severed.

    Keats remains alive and blushing in the truest and tenderest of hearts. Treasure him. Allow his words to soften and enlighten your soul.

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)


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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