Search Results for: poets

< Return to All John Keats Sweet Is the Greeting of Eyes Sweet, sweet is the greeting of eyes, And sweet is the voice in its greeting, When adieus have grown old and goodbyes Fade away where old Time is retreating. Warm the nerve of a welcoming hand, And earnest a kiss on the brow, […]

< Return to All John Keats On the Grasshopper and Cricket The poetry of earth is never dead: When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead; That is the Grasshopper’s—he takes the lead In summer luxury,—he […]

< Return to All John Keats On Leaving Some Friends at an Early Hour Give me a golden pen, and let me lean On heap’d up flowers, in regions clear, and far; Bring me a tablet whiter than a star, Or hand of hymning angel, when ’tis seen The silver strings of heavenly harp atween: […]

< Return to All John Keats Ode to Psyche O Gooddess! hear these tunealess numbers, wrung By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear, And pardon that thy secrets should be sung Even into thine own soft-conchèd ear: Surely I dream’d to-day, or did I see The wingèd Psyche with awaken’d eyes? I wander’d in a forest […]

< Return to All John Keats Ode on Melancholy No, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine; Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kist By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine; Make not your rosary of yew-berries, Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be Your mournful Psyche, nor […]

< Return to All John Keats Sharing Eve’s Apple O blush not so! O blush not so! Or I shall think you knowing; And if you smile the blushing while, Then maidenheads are going. There’s a blush for want, and a blush for shan’t, And a blush for having done it; There’s a blush for […]

< Return to All John Keats Robin Hood (To a Friend) No! those days are gone away And their hours are old and gray, And their minutes buried all Under the down-trodden pall Of the leaves of many years: Many times have winter’s shears, Frozen North, and chilling East, Sounded tempests to the feast Of […]

< Return to All John Keats Over the Hill and Over the Dale Over the hill and over the dale, And over the bourn to Dawlish — Where gingerbread wives have a scanty sale And gingerbread nuts are smallish. Rantipole Betty she ran down a hill And kicked up her petticoats fairly; Says I’ll be […]

< Return to All John Keats Modern Love And what is love? It is a doll dress’d up For idleness to cosset, nurse, and dandle; A thing of soft misnomers, so divine That silly youth doth think to make itself Divine by loving, and so goes on Yawning and doting a whole summer long, Till […]

< Return to All John Keats Meg Merrilies Old Meg she was a Gipsy, And liv’d upon the Moors: Her bed it was the brown heath turf, And her house was out of doors. Her apples were swart blackberries, Her currants pods o’ broom; Her wine was dew of the wild white rose, Her book […]

< Return to All John Keats In Drear Nighted December In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne’er remember Their green felicity: The north cannot undo them, With a sleety whistle through them; Nor frozen thawings glue them From budding at the prime. In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy brook, Thy […]

< Return to All John Keats Imitation of Spenser Now Morning from her orient chamber came, And her first footsteps touch’d a verdant hill; Crowning its lawny crest with amber flame, Silv’ring the untainted gushes of its rill; Which, pure from mossy beds, did down distill, And after parting beds of simple flowers, By many […]

< Return to All John Keats I Stood Tiptoe Upon a Little Hill 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 Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside, Their scantly leaved, and finely tapering stems, Had not yet lost those […]