Dear Keats Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABCDEF GEHICJK LMN NCCCC BOHPNQ RST UVWXYZ A2 NB2C2N D2E2F2X HG2PH2I2 TK J2NNNK2L2NM2N NN2HO2CNCO N NP2Q2R2HO N S2NPN PPN NN N T2U2N L2NJ2V2W2X2 N N N G2 Y2Z2NA3I2N N NBB3C3ZCA3 W2N CA3N XNNND3 NE3Already six years past your age | A |
The steps in Rome | B |
the house near Hampstead Heath | C |
all your fears | D |
that you might cease to be | E |
before your pen had glean'd | F |
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My dear dead friend | G |
you were the first to teach me | E |
how the dust could sing | H |
I followed in your footsteps | I |
up the Heath | C |
I listened hard | J |
for Lethe's nightingale | K |
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now at I want to live | L |
Oblivion holds no adolescent charms | M |
all the 'souls of poets | N |
dead gone ' | - |
all the 'Bards | N |
of Passion Mirth' | C |
cannot make death | C |
its echo its damp earth | C |
resemble birth | C |
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You died in Rome | B |
in faltering sunlight | O |
Bernini's watery boat still sinking | H |
in the fountain in the square below | P |
When Severn came to say | N |
the roses bloomed | Q |
you did not 'glut thy sorrow ' | - |
but you wept | R |
you wept for them | S |
for your posthumous life | T |
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yet we all lead posthumous lives somehow | U |
The broken lyre | V |
the broken lung | W |
the broken love | X |
Our names are writ in newsprint | Y |
if not water | Z |
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'Don't breathe on me ' you cried | A2 |
'it comes like ice ' | - |
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Last words | N |
I can't imagine mine | B2 |
Perhaps some muttered dream | C2 |
some poem some curse | N |
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Three months past | D2 |
you lived on milk | E2 |
They reeled you backward | F2 |
in the womb of love | X |
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A tepid February Roman Spring | H |
Fruit trees in bloom | G2 |
Hampstead still in snow | P |
Fanny Brawne receives a hopeful note | H2 |
when you are two weeks dead | I2 |
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A poet's life | T |
always awaiting mail | K |
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For God's sake | J2 |
kick against the pricks | N |
There aren't very many roses | N |
Your life was like an hourglass | N |
with no sand | K2 |
The words slid through | L2 |
rested under glass | N |
the flesh decayed | M2 |
to moist Italian clay | N |
- | |
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At autopsy | N |
your lungs were wholly gone | N2 |
Was that from too much singing | H |
Too many rifts of ore | O2 |
You spent your life breath | C |
breathing life in words | N |
But words return no breath | C |
to those who write | O |
- | |
Letters Life Literary Remains | N |
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'I find that I cannot exist without poetry ' | - |
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'O for a Life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts ' | - |
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'What the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth ' | - |
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'We hate poetry that has a palpable design upon us ' | - |
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'Sancho will invent a Journey heavenwards as well as anybody ' | - |
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'Poetry should be great and unobtrusive a thing which enters into one's soul ' | - |
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'Why should we kick against the Pricks when we can walk on the Roses ' | - |
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'Axioms in philosophy are not axioms until they are proved upon our pulses ' | - |
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'Until we are sick we understand not ' | - |
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'Sorrow is Wisdom ' | - |
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'Wisdom is folly ' | - |
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Too wise | N |
yet not wise enough | P2 |
at | Q2 |
Sick you understood | R2 |
understanding | H |
were too weak to write | O |
- | |
Proved on the pulse poetry | N |
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If sorrow is wisdom | S2 |
wisdom is folly | N |
then too much sorrow | P |
is folly | N |
- | |
I find that I cannot exist without sorrow | P |
I find that sorrow | P |
cannot exist without poetry | N |
- | |
What the imagination seizes as beauty | N |
must be poetry | N |
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What the imagination seizes must be | N |
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You claimed no lust for fame | T2 |
yet your burned | U2 |
'The faint conceptions I have of poems to come brings | N |
the blood frequently into my forehead ' | - |
- | |
I burn like you | L2 |
until it often seems | N |
my blood will break | J2 |
the boundaries of my brain | V2 |
issue forth in one tall fountain | W2 |
from my skull | X2 |
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A spume of blood from the forehead poetry | N |
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A plume of blood from the heart poetry | N |
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Blood from the lungs alizarin crimson words | N |
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'I will not spoil my love of gloom | G2 |
by writing an Ode to Darkness ' | - |
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The blood turns dark | Y2 |
it stiffens on the sheet | Z2 |
At night the childhood walls | N |
are streaked with blood | A3 |
until the darkness seems awash with red | I2 |
children sleep behind two blood branched lids | N |
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'My imagination is a monastery | N |
I am its monk ' | - |
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At five twenty | N |
very far from home | B |
death picked you up | B3 |
sorted to a pip | C3 |
decades later | Z |
your words breathe | C |
syllables of blood | A3 |
- | |
A strange transfusion | W2 |
for my feverish verse | N |
- | |
I suck your breath | C |
your rhythms your blood | A3 |
all my fiercest dreams are sighed away | N |
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I send you love | X |
dear Keats | N |
I send you peace | N |
Since flesh can't stay | N |
we keep the breath aloft | D3 |
- | |
Since flesh can't stay | N |
we pass the words along | E3 |
Erica Jong
(1)
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