John KeatsJohn Keats

Biografia e poemasBiografia e poemas

On the Grasshopper and CricketOn the Grasshopper and Cricket

The poetry of earth is never dead:The poetry of earth is never dead:When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;That is the Grasshopper's--he takes the leadThat is the Grasshopper's--he takes the leadIn summer luxury,--he has never done In summer luxury,--he has never done With his delights; for when tired out with fun With his delights; for when tired out with fun He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.The poetry of earth is ceasing never:The poetry of earth is ceasing never:On a lone winter evening, when the frost On a lone winter evening, when the frost Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,And seems to one in drowsiness half lost, And seems to one in drowsiness half lost, The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills.The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills.

Keen Fitful Gusts Are Whispering Here Keen Fitful Gusts Are Whispering Here And ThereAnd There

Keen fitful gusts are whispering here and thereKeen fitful gusts are whispering here and thereAmong the bushes, half leafless and dry;Among the bushes, half leafless and dry;The stars look very cold about the sky,The stars look very cold about the sky,And I have many miles on foot to fare;And I have many miles on foot to fare;Yet feel I little of the cool bleak air,Yet feel I little of the cool bleak air,Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily,Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily,Or of those silver lamps that burn on high,Or of those silver lamps that burn on high,Or of the distance from home's pleasant lair.Or of the distance from home's pleasant lair.For I am brimful of the friendlinessFor I am brimful of the friendlinessThat in a little cottage I have found;That in a little cottage I have found;Of fair-hair'd Milton's eloquent distress,Of fair-hair'd Milton's eloquent distress,And all his love for gentle Lycid' drown'd;And all his love for gentle Lycid' drown'd;Of lovely Laura in her light green dress,Of lovely Laura in her light green dress,And faithful Petrarch gloriously crown'd.And faithful Petrarch gloriously crown'd.

EndymionEndymion

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:Its loveliness increases; it will neverIts loveliness increases; it will neverPass into nothingness; but still will keepPass into nothingness; but still will keepA bower quiet for us, and a sleepA bower quiet for us, and a sleepFull of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathingTherefore, on every morrow, are we wreathingA flowery band to bind us to the earth,A flowery band to bind us to the earth,Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearthSpite of despondence, of the inhuman dearthOf noble natures, of the gloomy days,Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened waysOf all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened waysMade for our searching: yes, in spite of all,Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,Some shape of beauty moves away the pallSome shape of beauty moves away the pallFrom our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boonTrees old and young, sprouting a shady boonFor simple sheep;For simple sheep;

Ode to FannyOde to Fanny

PHYSICIAN Nature! Let my spririt blood! PHYSICIAN Nature! Let my spririt blood! O ease my heart of verse and let me rest; O ease my heart of verse and let me rest; Throw me upon thy Tripod, till the flood Throw me upon thy Tripod, till the flood Of stifling numbers ebbs from my full breast. Of stifling numbers ebbs from my full breast. A theme! a theme! great nature! give a theme; A theme! a theme! great nature! give a theme; Let me begin my dream. Let me begin my dream. I come - I see thee, as thou standest there, I come - I see thee, as thou standest there, Beckon me not into the wintry air. Beckon me not into the wintry air.

When I have fears that I may When I have fears that I may cease to becease to be

When I have fears that I may cease to be When I have fears that I may cease to be     Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,     Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Before high-piled books, in charactery, Before high-piled books, in charactery,     Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;     Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,     Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,     Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace And think that I may never live to trace     Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;     Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; And when I feel, fair creature of an hour, And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,     That I shall never look upon thee more,     That I shall never look upon thee more, Never have relish in the faery power Never have relish in the faery power     Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore     Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

Ode on melancholyOde on melancholy

No, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist No, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine; Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine; Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kissed Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kissed By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine; By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine; Make not your rosary of yew-berries, Make not your rosary of yew-berries, Nor let the beetle nor the death-moth be Nor let the beetle nor the death-moth be Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owlYour mournful Psyche, nor the downy owlA partner in your sorrow's mysteries; A partner in your sorrow's mysteries; For shade to shade will come too drowsily, For shade to shade will come too drowsily, And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.

But when the melancholy fit shall fall Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, And hides the green hill in an April shroud; Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose, Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave, Or on the wealth of globed peonies;Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows, Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave, And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

She dwells with Beauty -- Beauty that must die; And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh, Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips; Ay, in the very temple of delight Veiled Melancholy has her sovran shrine, Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongueCan burst Joy's grape against his palate fine; His soul shall taste the sadness of her might, And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

La Belle Dame sans merciLa Belle Dame sans merci

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,Alone and palely loitering?Alone and palely loitering?The sedge is withered from the lake,The sedge is withered from the lake,And no birds sing.And no birds sing.

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,So haggard and so woe-begoneSo haggard and so woe-begoneThe squirrel's granary is full,The squirrel's granary is full,And the harvest's done.And the harvest's done.

I see a lily on thy browI see a lily on thy browWith anguish moist and fever dew,With anguish moist and fever dew,And on thy cheek a fading roseAnd on thy cheek a fading roseFast withereth too.Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,Full beautiful, a faery's child:Her hair was long, her foot was ligh,And her eyes were wild.

I set her on my pacing steed,And nothing else saw all day long;For sideways would she lean, and singA faery's song.

I made a garland for her head,And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;She looked at me as she did love,And made sweet moan.

She found me roots of relish sweet,And honey wild, and manna dew,And sure in language strange she said,"I love thee true!"

She took me to her elfin grot,And there she gazed and sighed deep,And there I shut her wild, sad eyes---So kissed to sleep.

And there we slumbered on the moss,And there I dreamed, ah! woe betide,The latest dream I ever dreamedOn the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings, and princes too,Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;Who cried---"La belle Dame sans merciHath thee in thrall!"

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,With horrid warning gaped wide,And I awoke and found me here,On the cold hill side.

And that is why I sojourn here,Alone and palely loitering,Though the sedge is withered from the lake,And no birds sing.