John Keats

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

John Keats Poems

161. Epistle To My Brother George 1/13/2003
162. Think Of It Not, Sweet One 12/31/2002
163. O Solitude! If I Must With Thee Dwell 1/13/2003
164. A Prophecy: To George Keats In America 3/22/2010
165. The Human Seasons 12/31/2002
166. To Sleep 12/31/2002
167. Last Sonnet 1/4/2003
168. Ode To Fanny 1/3/2003
169. Where's The Poet? 1/3/2003
170. You Say You Love 3/23/2010
171. A Galloway Song 3/22/2010
172. The Eve Of St. Agnes 12/31/2002
173. On Death 3/29/2010
174. This Living Hand 1/3/2003
175. Hymn To Apollo 12/31/2002
176. On Fame 1/3/2003
177. Hyperion 12/31/2002
178. O Blush Not So! 12/31/2002
179. On First Looking Into Chapman's Homer 12/31/2002
180. Ode To Psyche 12/31/2002
181. Endymion: Book Ii 1/13/2003
182. An Extempore 3/22/2010
183. Fragment Of An Ode To Maia 1/4/2003
184. Ode 1/3/2003
185. Endymion: A Poetic Romance (Excerpt) 1/1/2004
186. Endymion: Book I 1/13/2003
187. Acrostic : Georgiana Augusta Keats 3/22/2010
188. Addressed To Haydon 1/13/2003
189. Fill For Me A Brimming Bowl 1/3/2003
190. To Fanny 1/13/2003
191. La Belle Dame Sans Merci (Original Version ) 3/29/2010
192. Ode On Melancholy 12/31/2002
193. Where Be Ye Going, You Devon Maid? 12/31/2002
194. Asleep! O Sleep A Little While, White Pearl! 3/22/2010
195. To Solitude 12/31/2002
196. Answer To A Sonnet By J.H.Reynolds 1/13/2003
197. Endymion (Excerpts) 12/31/2002
198. Bards Of Passion And Of Mirth, 1/4/2003
199. Hither, Hither, Love 12/31/2002
200. On The Sea 1/3/2003

Comments about John Keats

  • 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.

    19 person liked.
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  • 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.

  • H. Reese (7/5/2012 11:35:00 AM)

    Keats was an inspired man who wrote for Love and Truth. Those two things should be at the center of all our work. Go to Google, search The Truth Contest, click the first result, begin reading The Present

  • Funny Rajj (6/19/2012 2:08:00 AM)

    Well i am honored to write a comment on John Keats... His poems are so heart touching, simply love the feelings in the poem. I just stumbled upon this site which has funny poems, hope you guys will like it...

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  • Shahzia Batool Shahzia Batool (2/17/2012 9:25:00 AM)

    'thou wast not born for death, Immortal Bird! '
    now live eternally
    in worthy world,
    in poetic realm.
    thy words impress the soul,
    and overwhelm
    our each and every thought...
    thou wast a singing Bird,
    for us thou always brought
    enchanting, rhythmic words...
    now do a different job:
    remove the veil of gloom
    from caring, thoughtful mind,
    do not intend to sob
    in sad, indolent mood.
    try not to close thy eyes
    pain is the part of life-
    so why escape the world?
    thou wast not born for death

    Shahzia Batool

  • Ryan Walker (1/26/2012 12:16:00 PM)

    I love the tool Keats uses to profoundly affect the Romantic sense in his poetry. He starts grounded in reality, then slowly and gradually goes into this ideal sense, that once it hits a peak, goes back down to reality. But it is not the same point you started in.
    A fantastic poet. If only he had been able to write longer, think of the influence he would've had on his contemporaries.

  • Aijaz Roxx (1/22/2012 6:57:00 AM)

    keats is not only the best poet ever..... but he has the capacity of doing what the age wants..... not like shakesphere just stolen all his drams from other guys to make them personal.....

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  • p.a. noushad p.a. noushad (4/13/2010 1:06:00 AM)

    highly romantic poems, i like very much

  • Bambam Yadav (3/16/2010 10:21:00 AM)

    John keats is one of the such raomantic poet who never put himself under restriction of versification.Keats achieved mastery in spontaneous voices of hearts.He seemed to us the best romantic as well as classic in his composition.His extraordinary verses, of course, takes us in the stream of realization.

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)

This Living Hand

This living hand, now warm and capable
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
And in the icy silence of the tomb,
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood
So in my veins red life might stream again,
And thou be conscience-calmed - see here it is -
I hold it towards you.

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