A Haunting Music, Sole Perhaps and Lone A haunting music, sole perhaps and lone Supportress of the faery-roof, made moan Throughout, as fearful the whole charm might fade. Fresh carved cedar, mimicking a glade Of palm and plantain, met from either si...
To John Taylor, 5th September, 1819 My dear Taylor; This morning I received yours of the 2nd and with it a letter from Hesssey enclosing a Bank post Bill of 30 Poundsan ample sum I assure you: more I had no thought of. You should not have delayed so...
To Fanny Keats, Winchester, 28 August 1819 Sorry but not available....
To Fanny Brawne, 25 July 1819. Sunday Night My Sweet Girl, I hope you did not blame me much for not obeying your request of a Letter on Saturday: we have had four in our small room playing at cards night and morning leaving me no undisturbed opportun...
To Fanny Brawne, 1st July, 1819 Shanklin, Isle of Wight My dearest Lady: I am glad I had not an opportunity of sending off a letter which I wrote for you on Tuesday night - t'was too much like one out of Rousseau' Heloise. I am more reasonable this m...
Ode to Psyche O GODDESS! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear, And pardon that thy secrets should be sung Even into thine own soft-conched ear: Surely I dreamt to-day, or did I see The winged Psyche with awaken...
To Sleep O SOFT embalmer of the still midnight! Shutting with careful fingers and benign Our gloom-pleased eyes, embower'd from the light, Enshaded in forgetfulness divine; O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close, In midst of this thine hymn, m...
Ode on a Grecian Urn THOU still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape Of deities...
To George and Georgiana Keats, Friday 19th March 1819 (Cont.): I have been reading lately two very different books I have been reading lately two very different books Robertsons America and Voltaires Siecle De Louis XIV. It is like walking arm and ar...
Las Belle Dame Sans Merci O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering? The sedge is witherd from the lake, And no birds sing. O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, So haggard and so woe-begone? The squirrels granary is full, And th...