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John Keats

John Keats

Give Me Women, Wine, and Snuff

GIVE me women, wine, and snuff
Untill I cry out “hold, enough!”
You may do so sans objection
Till the day of resurrection:
For, bless my beard, they aye shall be
My beloved Trinity.

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Otras obras de John Keats...
To Haydon with a Sonnet Written on Seeing the Elgin Marbles

Haydon! Forgive me, that I cannot… Definitively on these mighty thing… Forgive me that I have not Eagle’… That what I want I know not where… And think that I would not be ove…
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Sonnet to George Keats: Written in Sickness

Brother belov’d if health shall sm… Upon this wasted form and fever’d… If e’er returning vigour bid these… And languid limbs their gladsome s… Well may thy brow the placid glow…
Written on a Summer Evening

The church bells toll a melancholy… Calling the people to some other p… Some other gloominess, more dreadf… More harkening to the sermon’s hor… Surely the mind of man is closely…
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Fragment of an Ode to Maia

MOTHER of Hermes! and still you…    May I sing to thee As thou wast hymned on the shores…    Or may I woo thee In earlier Sicilian? or thy smile…
Ode on Melancholy

No, no! go not to Lethe, neither… Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its… Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be… By nightshade, ruby grape of Pros… Make not your rosary of yew-berrie…
Dedication to Leigh Hunt, Esq.

Glory and loveliness have pass’d a… For if we wander out in early morn… No wreathed incense do we see upbo… Into the east, to meet the smiling… No crowd of nymphs soft voic’d and…
This living hand, now warm and capable

This living hand, now warm and cap… Of earnest grasping, would, if it… And in the icy silence of the tomb… So haunt thy days and chill thy dr… That thou would wish thine own hea…
Ode on a Grecian Urn

Thou still unravish’d bride of qui… Thou foster-child of silence and s… Sylvan historian, who canst thus e… A flowery tale more sweetly than o… What leaf-fring’d legend haunts ab…
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Where's the Poet?

Where’s the Poet? Show him! show… Muses nine! that I may know him! ‘Tis the man, who with a man Is an equal, be he King, Or poorest of the beggar-clan,
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Written on the Day That Mr Leigh Hunt Left Prison

What though, for showing truth to… Kind Hunt was shut in prison, yet… In his immortal spirit, been as fr… As the sky-searching lark, and as… Minion of grandeur! think you he d…
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La Belle Dame Sans Merci (Original Version )

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-ar… Alone and palely loitering? The sedge has withered from the la… And no birds sing. Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-ar…
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A Prophecy: to George Keats in America

'Tis the witching hour of night, Orbed is the moon and bright, And the stars they glisten, gliste… Seeming with bright eyes to listen… For what listen they?
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On Sitting Down to Read King Lear Once Again

O golden—tongued Romance with ser… Fair plumed Syren! Queen of far a… Leave melodizing on this wintry da… Shut up thine olden pages, and be… Adieu! for once again the fierce d…
Great Spirits Now on Earth Are Sojourning

GREAT spirits now on earth are s… He of the cloud, the cataract, the… Who on Helvellyn’s summit, wide a… Catches his freshness from Archan… He of the rose, the violet, the sp…
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The Day Is Gone, and All Its Sweets Are Gone!

The day is gone, and all its sweet… Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand… Warm breath, light whisper, tender… Bright eyes, accomplish’d shape, a… Faded the flower and all its budde…
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