John Keats Poems

  • 151.  
    Had I a man's fair form, then might my sighs
    Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell,Thine ear, and find thy gentle heart; so well
  • 152.  
    Read me a lesson, Muse, and speak it loud
    Upon the top of Nevis, blind in mist!I look into the chasms, and a shroud
  • 153.  
    Byron! how sweetly sad thy melody!
    Attuning still the soul to tenderness, As if soft Pity, with unusual stress,
  • 154.  
    Why did I laugh to-night? No voice will tell
    No God, no Demon of severe response,Deigns to reply from Heaven or from Hell
  • 155.  
    Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
    Alone and palely loitering?The sedge has withered from the lake,
  • 156.  
    There was one Mrs. Cameron of 50 years of age and the fattest woman in all Inverness-shire who got up this Mountain some few years ago -- true she had her servants -- but then she had her self. She ought to have hired Sisyphus, -- 'Up the high hill he heaves a huge round -- Mrs. Cameron.' 'Tis said a little conversation took place between the mountain and the Lady. After taking a glass of W[h]iskey as she was tolerably seated at ease she thus began --

  • 157.  
    'Tis the witching hour of night,
    Orbed is the moon and bright,And the stars they glisten, glisten,
  • 158.  
    Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art! -
    Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,And watching, with eternal lids apart,
  • 159.  
    Many the wonders I this day have seen:
    The sun, when first he kissed away the tearsThat filled the eyes of Morn;â??the laurelled peers
  • 160.  
    As late I rambled in the happy fields,
    What time the skylark shakes the tremulous dewFrom his lush clover covert;â??when anew
  • 161.  
    BEFORE he went to feed with owls and bats
    Nebuchadnezzar had an ugly dream,Worse than an Hus'if's when she thinks her cream
  • 162.  
    I.
    Fame, like a wayward girl, will still be coyTo those who woo her with too slavish knees,
  • 163.  
    BOOK I
    DEEP in the shady sadness of a valeFar sunken from the healthy breath of morn,
  • 164.  
    1.
    Think not of it, sweet one, so;--Give it not a tear;
  • 165.  
    There are who lord it o'er their fellow-men
    With most prevailing tinsel: who unpenTheir baaing vanities, to browse away
  • 166.  
    Of late two dainties were before me plac'd
    Sweet, holy, pure, sacred and innocent,From the ninth sphere to me benignly sent
  • 167.  
    t stop at home,
    He could not quiet be-He took
  • 168.  
    1.
    O Blush not so! O blush not so!Or I shall think you knowing;
  • 169.  
    Cat! who hast passâ??d thy grand climacteric,
    How many mice and rats hast in thy daysDestroyâ??d? How many tit bits stolen? Gaze
  • 170.  
    Chief of organic Numbers!
    Old Scholar of the Spheres! Thy spirit never slumbers,
  • 171.  
    Keen, fitful gusts are whisp'ring here and there
    Among the bushes half leafless, and dry; The stars look very cold about the sky,
  • 172.  
    A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
    Its loviliness increases; it will neverPass into nothingness; but still will keep
  • 173.  
    I stood tip-toe upon a little hill,
    The air was cooling, and so very still, That the sweet buds which with a modest pride
  • 174.  
    Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
    Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart,
  • 175.  
    BRIGHT Star, would I were steadfast as thou art--
    Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night, And watching, with eternal lids apart,
  • 176.  
    This pleasant tale is like a little copse:
    The honied lines so freshly interlace,To keep the reader in so sweet a place,
  • 177.  
    Spenser! a jealous honourer of thine,
    A forester deep in thy midmost trees, Did last eve ask my promise to refine
  • 178.  
    I.
    He is to weet a melancholy carle:Thin in the waist, with bushy head of hair
  • 179.  
    Bards of Passion and of Mirth,
    Ye have left your souls on earth!Have ye souls in heaven too,
  • 180.  
    GIVE me women, wine, and snuff
    Untill I cry out "hold, enough!" You may do so sans objection
  • 181.  
    The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
    Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast,Warm breath, light whisper, tender semitone,
  • 182.  
    Hadst thou liv'd in days of old,
    O what wonders had been told Of thy lively countenance,
  • 183.  
    The town, the churchyard, and the setting sun,
    The clouds, the trees, the rounded hills all seem,Though beautiful, cold- strange- as in a dream
  • 184.  
    MINUTES are flying swiftly, and as yet
    Nothing unearthly has enticed my brainInto a delphic Labyrinth I would fain
  • 185.  
    Now Morning from her orient chamber came,
    And her first footsteps touch'd a verdant hill;Crowning its lawny crest with amber flame,
  • 186.  
    Byron! how sweetly sad thy melody!
    Attuning still the soul to tenderness, As if soft Pity, with unusual stress,
  • 187.  
    Brother belov'd if health shall smile again,
    Upon this wasted form and fever'd cheek:If e'er returning vigour bid these weak
  • 188.  
    O SORROW!
       Why dost borrow    The natural hue of health, from vermeil lips?--
  • 189.  
    Where's the Poet? show him! show him,
    Muses nine! that I may know him.'Tis the man who with a man
  • 190.  
    Give me your patience, sister, while I frame
    Exact in capitals your golden name;Or sue the fair Apollo and he will
  • 191.  
    Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
    Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;Conspiring with him how to load and bless
  • 192.  
    Keen, fitful gusts are whisp'ring here and there
    Among the bushes half leafless, and dry; The stars look very cold about the sky,
  • 193.  
    1.
    In drear-nighted December,Too happy, happy tree,
  • 194.  
    Glory and loveliness have pass'd away;
    For if we wander out in early morn,No wreathed incense do we see upborne
  • 195.  
    Cat! who hast pass'd thy grand climacteric,
    How many mice and rats hast in thy daysDestroy'd? How many tit bits stolen? Gaze
  • 196.  
    Had I a man's fair form, then might my sighs
    Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell Thine ear, and find thy gentle heart; so well
  • 197.  
    1.
    Hush, hush! tread softly! hush, hush my dear!All the house is asleep, but we know very well
  • 198.  
    Physician Nature! Let my spirit blood!
    O ease my heart of verse and let me rest; Throw me upon thy Tripod, till the flood
  • 199.  
    I had a dove, and the sweet dove died;
    And I have thought it died of grieving:Oh, what could it grieve for? its feet were tied
  • 200.  
    Shed no tear! oh, shed no tear!
    The flower will bloom another year.Weep no more! oh, weep no more!
Total 268 poems written by John Keats

Poem of the day

Don Marquis Poem
So Let Them Pass, These Songs Of Mine
 by Don Marquis

So let them pass, these songs of mine,
Into oblivion, nor repine;
Abandoned ruins of large schemes,
Dimmed lights adrift from nobler dreams,

Weak wings I sped on quests divine,
So let them pass, these songs of mine.
They soar, or sink ephemeral-
...

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