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Death, Divorce, Sea. John Keats (2015). “Sonnets (Complete Edition): 63 Sonnets from one of the most beloved English Romantic poets, influenced by John Milton and Edmund Spenser, and one of the greatest lyric poets in English Literature, alongside William Shakespeare”, p.345, e-artnow.
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Drawing from personal experiences and his keen observations of the world, Keats crafted verses that continue to resonate with readers today. In this article, we will delve into some of Keats' most remarkable poems about death, examining their themes, imagery, and enduring impact.
In just a few years prior to his untimely death from tuberculosis, aged just 25, in 1821, Keats wrote some of the most memorable poems about everything from art to autumn to melancholy to sleep and much else in between.
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- “Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard, are sweeter” ― John Keats, Ode On A Grecian Urn And Other Poems.
- “Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?” ― John Keats, Letters of John Keats.
- “I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.”
- “Give me books, French wine, fruit, fine weather and a little music played out of doors by somebody I do not know.” ― John Keats.
1 contributor. This poem was written in 1814 in a letter to his brother Thomas when he was in his deathbed suffering from tuberculosis. The main intention of this poem is to comfort Thomas...
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave. Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed.
Ode to a Nightingale. By John Keats. My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains. My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains. One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness,—. That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees.
