John Keats Poems on Flowers (52 Poems)

Sleep And Poetry (John Keats Poems)

As I lay in my bed slepe full unmeteWas unto me, but why that I ne mightRest I ne wist, for there n’as erthly wight[As I suppose] had more of hertis eseThan I, for I n’ad sicknesse nor disese. ~ … Continue reading →

Hyperion, A Vision: Attempted Reconstruction Of The Poem (John Keats Poems)

CANTO I.Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weaveA paradise for a sect; the savage, too,From forth the loftiest fashion of his sleepGuesses at heaven; pity these have notTrac’d upon vellum or wild Indian leafThe shadows of melodious utterance,But bare of … Continue reading →

The Eve Of St. Agnes (John Keats Poems)

I.St. Agnes’ Eve–Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; The hare limp’d trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold: Numb were the Beadsman’s fingers, while he told His rosary, and while his frosted … Continue reading →

Otho The Great – Act V (John Keats Poems)

SCENE I. A part of the Forest.Enter CONRAD and AURANTHE.Auranthe. Go no further; not a step more; thou artA master-plague in the midst of miseries.Go I fear thee. I tremble every limb,Who never shook before. There’s moody deathIn thy resolved … Continue reading →

Lamia. Part I (John Keats Poems)

Upon a time, before the faery broodsDrove Nymph and Satyr from the prosperous woods,Before King Oberon’s bright diadem,Sceptre, and mantle, clasp’d with dewy gem,Frighted away the Dryads and the Fauns From rushes green, and brakes, and cowslip’d lawns,The ever-smitten Hermes empty … Continue reading →

Hyperion. Book II (John Keats Poems)

Just at the self-same beat of Time’s wide wingsHyperion slid into the rustled air,And Saturn gain’d with Thea that sad placeWhere Cybele and the bruised Titans mourn’d.It was a den where no insulting lightCould glimmer on their tears; where their … Continue reading →

Lamia. Part II (John Keats Poems)

Love in a hut, with water and a crust,Is-Love, forgive us!-cinders, ashes, dust;Love in a palace is perhaps at lastMore grievous torment than a hermit’s fast:-That is a doubtful tale from faery land, Hard for the non-elect to understand.Had Lycius liv’d … Continue reading →

I Stood Tip-Toe Upon A Little Hill (John Keats Poems)

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 starry diadems Caught from … Continue reading →

Calidore: A Fragment (John Keats Poems)

Young Calidore is paddling o’er the lake;His healthful spirit eager and awakeTo feel the beauty of a silent eve,Which seem’d full loath this happy world to leave;The light dwelt o’er the scene so lingeringly.He bares his forehead to the cool … Continue reading →

Epistle To My Brother George (John Keats Poems)

Full many a dreary hour have I past,My brain bewildered, and my mind o’ercastWith heaviness; in seasons when I’ve thoughtNo spherey strains by me could e’er be caughtFrom the blue dome, though I to dimness gazeOn the far depth where … Continue reading →