John Keats Poems

  • 101.  
    Ah! ken ye what I met the day
    Out oure the Mountains A coming down by craggi[e]s grey
  • 102.  
    No, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
  • 103.  
    Who loves to peer up at the morning sun,
    With half-shut eyes and comfortable cheek, Let him with this sweet tale full often seek
  • 104.  
    SCENE I.
    AURANTHE'S Apartment.
  • 105.  
    Thus in altemate uproar and sad peace,
    Amazed were those Titans utterly. O leave them, Muse! O leave them to their woes;
  • 106.  
    Shed no tear! oh, shed no tear! The flower will bloom another year.
  • 107.  
    O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
    Let it not be among the jumbled heap Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep,â??
  • 108.  
    Son of the old Moon-mountains African!
    Chief of the Pyramid and Crocodile! We call thee fruitful, and that very while
  • 109.  
    Happy is England! I could be content
    To see no other verdure than its own; To feel no other breezes than are blown
  • 110.  
    Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by?
  • 111.  
    Hast thou from the caves of Golconda, a gem
    Pure as the ice-drop that froze on the mountain? Bright as the humming-bird's green diadem,
  • 112.  
    Upon a time, before the faery broods
    Drove Nymph and Satyr from the prosperous woods, Before King Oberon's bright diadem,
  • 113.  
    Where's the Poet? show him! show him,
    Muses nine! that I may know him. 'Tis the man who with a man
  • 114.  
    Here all the summer could I stay, For there's Bishop's teign
  • 115.  
    This pleasant tale is like a little copse:
    The honied lines so freshly interlace, To keep the reader in so sweet a place,
  • 116.  
    Asleep! O sleep a little while, white pearl!
    And let me kneel, and let me pray to thee, And let me call Heavenâ??s blessing on thine eyes,
  • 117.  
    Two or three Posies
    With two or three simples-- Two or three Noses
  • 118.  
    To-night I'll have my friar -- let me think
    About my room, -- I'll have it in the pink; It should be rich and sombre, and the moon,
  • 119.  
    In thy western halls of gold When thou sittest in thy state,
  • 120.  
    High-mindedness, a jealousy for good,
    A loving-kindness for the great man's fame, Dwells here and there with people of no name,
  • 121.  
    As Hermes once took to his feathers light,
    When lulled Argus, baffled, swooned and slept, So on a Delphic reed, my idle spright
  • 122.  
    What though while the wonders of nature exploring,
    I cannot your light, mazy footsteps attend; Nor listen to accents, that almost adoring,
  • 123.  
    SCENE I.
    A part of the Forest.
  • 124.  
    O golden-tongued Romance with serene lute!
    Fair plumed Syren! Queen of far away! Leave melodizing on this wintry day,
  • 125.  
    To-night I'll have my friar -- let me think
    About my room, -- I'll have it in the pink; It should be rich and sombre, and the moon,
  • 126.  
    O that a week could be an age, and we
    Felt parting and warm meeting every week, Then one poor year a thousand years would be,
  • 127.  
    Fill for me a brimming bowl
    And in it let me drown my soul: But put therein some drug, designed
  • 128.  
    If by dull rhymes our English must be chain'd,
    And, like Andromeda, the Sonnet sweet Fetter'd, in spite of pained loveliness;
  • 129.  
    The Gothic looks solemn, The plain Doric column
  • 130.  
    Over the hill and over the dale,
    And over the bourn to Dawlish-- Where gingerbread wives have a scanty sale
  • 131.  
    As Hermes once took to his feathers light
    When lulled Argus, baffled, swoon'd and slept, So on a Delphic reed my idle spright
  • 132.  
    What can I do to drive away
    Remembrance from my eyes? for they have seen, Aye, an hour ago, my brilliant Queen!
  • 133.  
    Oh! how I love, on a fair summer's eve,
    When streams of light pour down the golden west, And on the balmy zephyrs tranquil rest
  • 134.  
    From BOOK I

  • 135.  
    O soft embalmer of the still midnight!
    Shutting, with careful fingers and benign, Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light,
  • 136.  
    Hence Burgundy, Claret, and Port,
    Away with old Hock and madeira, Too earthly ye are for my sport;
  • 137.  
    Young Calidore is paddling o'er the lake;
    His healthful spirit eager and awake To feel the beauty of a silent eve,
  • 138.  
    How many bards gild the lapses of time!
    A few of them have ever been the food Of my delighted fancy,â??I could brood
  • 139.  
    Fresh morning gusts have blown away all fear
    From my glad bosom, -- now from gloominess I mount for ever -- not an atom less
  • 140.  
    As from the darkening gloom a silver dove
    Upsoars, and darts into the eastern light, On pinions that nought moves but pure delight,
  • 141.  
    SCENE I.
    An Ante-chamber in the Castle. Enter LUDOLPH and SIGIFRED.
  • 142.  
    This living hand, now warm and capable
    Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold And in the icy silence of the tomb,
  • 143.  
    When they were come into Faery's Court
    They rang -- no one at home -- all gone to sport And dance and kiss and love as faerys do
  • 144.  
    Dear Reynolds, as last night I lay in bed,
    There came before my eyes that wonted thread Of shapes, and shadows, and remembrances,
  • 145.  
    Cat! who has pass'd thy grand climacteric,
    How many mice and rats hast in thy days Destroy'd? How many tit-bits stolen? Gaze
  • 146.  
    'Under the flag
    Of each his faction, they to battle bring Their embryo atoms.' ~ Milton.
  • 147.  
    I had a dove, and the sweet dove died;
    And I have thought it died of grieving: O, what could it grieve for? its feet were tied
  • 148.  
  • 149.  
    Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes,
    Nibble their toast, and cool their tea with sighs,Or else forget the purpose of the night,
  • 150.  
    All gentle folks who owe a grudgeTo any living thing
Total 268 poems written by John Keats

Poem of the day

Charles Hamilton Sorley Poem
To Germany
 by Charles Hamilton Sorley

You are blind like us. Your hurt no man designed,
And no man claimed the conquest of your land.
But gropers both through fields of thought confined
We stumble and we do not understand.
You only saw your future bigly planned,
And we, the tapering paths of our own mind,
And in each others dearest ways we stand,
And hiss and hate. And the blind fight the blind.

Read complete poem

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