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Selected Poems
Favorite selections from the canon of the great Romantic poet include "Ode on a Grecian Urn," "Ode to a Nightingale," and "La Belle Dame Sans Merci."
192 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1947
About the author
John Keats
1,211 books2,367 followersRich melodic works in classical imagery of British poet John Keats include "
The Eve of Saint Agnes
," "
Ode on a Grecian Urn
," and "
To Autumn
," all in 1819.
Work of the principal of the Romantic movement of England received constant critical attacks from the periodicals of the day during his short life. He nevertheless posthumously immensely influenced poets, such as Alfred Tennyson. Elaborate word choice and sensual imagery characterize poetry, including a series of odes, masterpieces of Keats among the most popular poems in English literature. Most celebrated letters of Keats expound on his aesthetic theory of "negative capability."
Wikipedia page of the author
Work of the principal of the Romantic movement of England received constant critical attacks from the periodicals of the day during his short life. He nevertheless posthumously immensely influenced poets, such as Alfred Tennyson. Elaborate word choice and sensual imagery characterize poetry, including a series of odes, masterpieces of Keats among the most popular poems in English literature. Most celebrated letters of Keats expound on his aesthetic theory of "negative capability."
Wikipedia page of the author
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 78 reviews
March 18, 2020
Among other things, I have John Keats to thank for bringing a bit of light to an otherwise hideously monotonous English A-level course. My new favourite word is also courtesy of Keats (synaesthesia - go on, say it out loud, you know you want to) as well as a very insightful introduction into second-generation Romanticism.
Keats is lovely. Just lovely. Not intense or particularly passionate or ambitious - lovely. And unfortunately, as a girl deeply in love with the heiress of Romanticism, Emily Brontë, and the last Romantic, Thomas Hardy, I found Keats mild and tame in comparison… and slightly lacking in lustre.
I suspect my shameful lack of Greco-Roman mythology knowledge (despite having studied Latin Literature and directly translated Metamorphoses) probably had something to do with my complete lack of interest in the epic poems - which make up over half this collection. These tedious and exhaustively long narratives certainly tested my patience; they feel archaic and become increasingly bizarre and outlandish. Luckily for me, as well as numerous critics, Keats himself acknowledged that Endymion was… well, really not that good - so I don’t need to feel guilty at not enjoying some critically acclaimed masterpiece. The shorter and more serious pieces however are, quite simply, sublime. Any sort of rich sensuous detail, or anywhere I could use ‘synaesthesia’ (!!), gets me onboard. Ode to a Nightingale and To Autumn are exemplar.
I’ve had a Romantic preoccupation with eternity drummed into my head and now it’s hard to shake: Keats certainly lived and breathed his moment, but some of those moments remained timeless… destined to be picked apart by students like me rather than read for pleasure. Sorry, Keats, don’t take it personally.
March 9, 2021
This was waaaaaay over my head. And now I feel dumb as hell. Sylvia's still my muse though. DNF at 48%.
December 28, 2015
How can one fully understand the depth of Keats' poetry in a single sitting. Some of verses gave me goosebumps. Some made me understand the meaning of love and romance. I shall read Keats' poetry till I die. This is just the introduction
October 8, 2018
Being student of English Literature Keats is indispensable. I simply love his poems
December 25, 2023
«I must not think now, though I saw that face—
But for her eyes I should have fled away.
They held me back, with a benignant light,
Soft mitigated by divinest lids
Half-closed, and visionless entire they seem'd
Of all external things;—they saw me not,
But in blank splendor, beam'd like the mild moon,
Who comforts those she sees not, who knows not
What eyes are upward cast.»
He tardado pero ha merecido mucho la pena 🤌🏼
But for her eyes I should have fled away.
They held me back, with a benignant light,
Soft mitigated by divinest lids
Half-closed, and visionless entire they seem'd
Of all external things;—they saw me not,
But in blank splendor, beam'd like the mild moon,
Who comforts those she sees not, who knows not
What eyes are upward cast.»
He tardado pero ha merecido mucho la pena 🤌🏼
April 28, 2018
Just realised that, despite having read the entirety of the collection, I have yet to say anything on here about Keats. I am so glad that I'm studying this collection as I would never have picked it up out of choice. At the start of year thirteen I could barely stand this collection- I found Keats's language harder to understand than Shakespeare and the idea of romanticism and negative capability went right over my head! But, over time, I must confess that I've come round to him. I don't like all of the poems (I guess Keats didn't intend for all of them to be published and I still haven't finished Endymion!Hence the 4 star rating) but some of them, especially the odes are honestly beautiful.
Would recommend!
Would recommend!
August 22, 2021
I studied Kavanagh in school. We had to study five poets in depth, of which we’d be given two to choose from in the final exam. The canny thing to do was pick three and do them well, so I did Derek Mahon, my class focused on PK, and Mahon came up in the exam. I don’t know if that’s why I carried a ‘meh’ attitude to Kavanagh till now, but this collection rightly turned it on its head. This is exactly my kind of poetry, because it’s both beautiful and functional. Kavanagh uses his medium to deliver opinions on religion and rural Ireland with a specificity that is greatly to his credit. I enjoyed myself very much, although, I’ll admit, I preferred the shorter poems to the epic ‘Great Hunger’ and ‘Lough Derg’.
Author’s note:
“A true poet is selfish and implacable. A poet merely states the positiosn and does not care whether his words change anything or not.”
Address to an Old Wooden Gate:
“Or watch the fairy-columned turf-smoke rise
From white-washed cottage chimneys heaven-wise.”
After May:
“May came, and every shabby phoenix flapped
A coloured rag in lieu of shining wings;”
Tinker’s Wife:
“Her face had streaks of care
Like wires across it,”
The Hired Boy:
“And how to be satisfied with the little
The destiny masters give
To the beasts of the tillage country –
To be damned and yet to live.”
To the Man After the Harrow:
“The seed like stars agains the black
Eternity of April clay.”
“For you are driving your horses through
The mist where Genesis begins.”
The Great Hunger:
“God is in the bits and pieces of Everyday –
A kiss here and a laugh again, and sometimes tears,
A pearl necklace around the neck of poverty.”
“Who bent the coin of my destiny
That it stuck in the slot?”
Lough Derg:
“They come to Lough Derg to fast and pray and beg
With all the bitterness of nonentities, and the envy
Of the inarticulate when dealing with an artist.
Their hands pushed closed the doors that God holds
open.
Love-sunlit is an enchanter in June’s hours
And flowers and light. These to shopkeepers and small
lawyers
Are heresies up beauty’s sleeve.”
“This was the banal
Beggary that God heard. Was he bored
As men are with the poor? Christ Lord
Hears in the voices of the meanly poor
Homeric utterances, poetry sweeping through.”
Advent:
“We have tested and tasted too much, lover –
Through a chink too wide there comes in no wonder.
But here in this Advent-darkened room
Where the dry black bread and sugarless tea
Of penance will charm back the luxury
Of a child’s soul, we’ll return to Doom
The knowledge we stole but could not use.”
Memory of Brother Michael:
“Culture is always something that was,
Something pedants can measure,
Skull of bard, thigh of chief,
Depth of dried-up river,
Shall we be thus for ever?
Shall we be thus for ever?”
On Raglan Road:
“O I loved too much and by such by such is happiness
thrown away.”
Epic:
“Till Homer’s ghost came whispering to my mind
He said: I made the Iliad from such
A local row. Gods make their own importance.”
Having Confessed:
“We must not touch the immortal material
We must not daydream tomorrow’s judgement –
God must be allowed to surprise us.
We have sinned, sinned like Lucifer
By this anticipation. Let us lie down again
Deep in anonymous humility and God
May find us worthy material for His hand.”
Canal Bank Walk:
“For this soul needs to be honoured with a new dress
woven
From green and blue things and arguments that cannot
be proven.”
Winter:
“And looking out my window I saw that Winter had
landed
Complete with the grey cloak and the bare tree sonnet.”
Thank You, Thank You:
“For what it teaches us is just this
We are not alone in our loneliness,
Others have been here and known
Griefs we thought our special own
Problems that we could not solve
Lovers that we could not have
Pleasures that we missed by inches.”
An Insult:
“To which there is no answer but to pray
For guidance through the parks of everyday,
To be silent till the soul itself forgives,
To learn again there is no golden rule
For keeping out of suffering – if one lives.”
Favourites: Address to an Old Wooden Gate; Ploughman; After May; Inniskeen Road: July Evening; Shancoduff; Advent; Pegasus; Memory of Brother Michael; On Raglan Road; Irish Poets Open Your Eyes; Epic; Wet Evening in April; Is; Canal Bank Walk; Miss Universe.
Author’s note:
“A true poet is selfish and implacable. A poet merely states the positiosn and does not care whether his words change anything or not.”
Address to an Old Wooden Gate:
“Or watch the fairy-columned turf-smoke rise
From white-washed cottage chimneys heaven-wise.”
After May:
“May came, and every shabby phoenix flapped
A coloured rag in lieu of shining wings;”
Tinker’s Wife:
“Her face had streaks of care
Like wires across it,”
The Hired Boy:
“And how to be satisfied with the little
The destiny masters give
To the beasts of the tillage country –
To be damned and yet to live.”
To the Man After the Harrow:
“The seed like stars agains the black
Eternity of April clay.”
“For you are driving your horses through
The mist where Genesis begins.”
The Great Hunger:
“God is in the bits and pieces of Everyday –
A kiss here and a laugh again, and sometimes tears,
A pearl necklace around the neck of poverty.”
“Who bent the coin of my destiny
That it stuck in the slot?”
Lough Derg:
“They come to Lough Derg to fast and pray and beg
With all the bitterness of nonentities, and the envy
Of the inarticulate when dealing with an artist.
Their hands pushed closed the doors that God holds
open.
Love-sunlit is an enchanter in June’s hours
And flowers and light. These to shopkeepers and small
lawyers
Are heresies up beauty’s sleeve.”
“This was the banal
Beggary that God heard. Was he bored
As men are with the poor? Christ Lord
Hears in the voices of the meanly poor
Homeric utterances, poetry sweeping through.”
Advent:
“We have tested and tasted too much, lover –
Through a chink too wide there comes in no wonder.
But here in this Advent-darkened room
Where the dry black bread and sugarless tea
Of penance will charm back the luxury
Of a child’s soul, we’ll return to Doom
The knowledge we stole but could not use.”
Memory of Brother Michael:
“Culture is always something that was,
Something pedants can measure,
Skull of bard, thigh of chief,
Depth of dried-up river,
Shall we be thus for ever?
Shall we be thus for ever?”
On Raglan Road:
“O I loved too much and by such by such is happiness
thrown away.”
Epic:
“Till Homer’s ghost came whispering to my mind
He said: I made the Iliad from such
A local row. Gods make their own importance.”
Having Confessed:
“We must not touch the immortal material
We must not daydream tomorrow’s judgement –
God must be allowed to surprise us.
We have sinned, sinned like Lucifer
By this anticipation. Let us lie down again
Deep in anonymous humility and God
May find us worthy material for His hand.”
Canal Bank Walk:
“For this soul needs to be honoured with a new dress
woven
From green and blue things and arguments that cannot
be proven.”
Winter:
“And looking out my window I saw that Winter had
landed
Complete with the grey cloak and the bare tree sonnet.”
Thank You, Thank You:
“For what it teaches us is just this
We are not alone in our loneliness,
Others have been here and known
Griefs we thought our special own
Problems that we could not solve
Lovers that we could not have
Pleasures that we missed by inches.”
An Insult:
“To which there is no answer but to pray
For guidance through the parks of everyday,
To be silent till the soul itself forgives,
To learn again there is no golden rule
For keeping out of suffering – if one lives.”
Favourites: Address to an Old Wooden Gate; Ploughman; After May; Inniskeen Road: July Evening; Shancoduff; Advent; Pegasus; Memory of Brother Michael; On Raglan Road; Irish Poets Open Your Eyes; Epic; Wet Evening in April; Is; Canal Bank Walk; Miss Universe.
September 28, 2019
Ah, Keats. The poor guy. The poor posterity, deprived of a lifetime of Keatsian literary finesse.
This was a great collection of Keats' published and unpublished works, an excellent introduction to the young poet. My favourite poems are probably the summer odes, but "Isabella" is up there too, and the "Endymion" excerpts and the "Hyperion" fragments were stunning (and contributed to my nostalgic thrill as a big fan of the Hyperion Cantos by Dan Simmons). Clearly Keats was still coming into his own, and I hate to think what he would have produced as his skills developed further, his philosophical/political views strengthened, and his writing branched further toward his own unique style. 'Tis a great shame, but nonetheless Keats left much to be grateful for.
This was a great collection of Keats' published and unpublished works, an excellent introduction to the young poet. My favourite poems are probably the summer odes, but "Isabella" is up there too, and the "Endymion" excerpts and the "Hyperion" fragments were stunning (and contributed to my nostalgic thrill as a big fan of the Hyperion Cantos by Dan Simmons). Clearly Keats was still coming into his own, and I hate to think what he would have produced as his skills developed further, his philosophical/political views strengthened, and his writing branched further toward his own unique style. 'Tis a great shame, but nonetheless Keats left much to be grateful for.
June 24, 2022
*4.5 I really enjoy the conventions and preoccupations of the Romantics; it's very similar to the Gothic genre being another love of mine. Only reason why it's not 5 stars i because some poems I wasn't taken in by particularly his long narrative poems just for the simple fact that I prefer shorter form poetry but that's just a personal preference and they were still beautifully written.
February 24, 2009
I just love good poetry. Keats is one of the bests.
December 9, 2022
Endlessly beautiful.
August 25, 2021
Keats offers up some peak Romanticism. The poetry is so erudite I'd really need to give it a deeper reading to fully appreciate it, rather than having it read to me by an effeminate Englishman.
Read
June 3, 2024Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."
March 25, 2012
I only read a few of his poems, but from what I've read I can't wait to read more.
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave 15
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! 20
How do you not love that? It's so gorgeous and beautiful!
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave 15
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! 20
How do you not love that? It's so gorgeous and beautiful!
November 27, 2022
the only thing i’m thankful to a-level literature for.
“a thing of beauty is a joy forever” and for me, that will be plenty of Keats’ poems, but especially the odes. maybe he’s slightly more melancholic than other romantics of the time, but that resonates more with me.
to view the world the way he viewed it, even just for a day, i think would be a rather incredible thing. even on his melancholic days.
“a thing of beauty is a joy forever” and for me, that will be plenty of Keats’ poems, but especially the odes. maybe he’s slightly more melancholic than other romantics of the time, but that resonates more with me.
to view the world the way he viewed it, even just for a day, i think would be a rather incredible thing. even on his melancholic days.
March 26, 2020
a magical, magical book - always in my heart
January 3, 2022
actual rate: 3,75
August 16, 2021
NAME- Selected poems by John Keats
AGE RATING- 12/13+
BOOK RATING- 4.5 Stars
Ever since the 6th standard, when my Literature marks plummeted due to my ‘wrong’ analysis of Wordsworth’s poem, ‘Daffodils’; I have hated every single poem from the Romanticism Era. If you saw a 10-year-old me tearing up a hundred copies of Romantic poems, it would be no surprise. The hate was deeply rooted inside of me and still is, at least it was till a few days ago.
My mother had picked up this book, against my will because apparently, I needed to read more poetry from the Romanticism Era. I had low, well almost no expectations from this book because well, of the 10-year-old me.
As soon as I opened this book I was surprised (well, I was more sleepy since these poems were long, and I do not advise you to read them at 11:30 in the night).
This book is the best poetry book I’ve ever read.
The imagery is amazing, you could close your eyes and imagine the scenes, the romance playing out between the characters. You could sense the leaves, the flowers, the pure passion put into these poems.
The Greek Mythology references are the cherry on top. The sheer godliness and the prettiness paired with the beautiful writing, make this an excellent read.
But, I would take off 0.5 stars for the same Greek Mythology references. I liked them, but not many people have a vast knowledge about the topic, making it harder to understand the emotions.
But even without knowing anything, you could feel the pure, raw emotions in these poems, the passion, the feelings, the personality.
Well, I could go on about this book. But, what's important is that you, dear readers, read at least one poem by this author and feel what I can.
Poetry is emotions, poetry is feeling what the poet felt.
So dear reader, can you feel what I am saying, can you hear the voice in your heart that shouts, “Read! Feel!” Dear reader, can you hear it, can you hear me, shouting and screaming, imploring you to read this book?
AGE RATING- 12/13+
BOOK RATING- 4.5 Stars
Ever since the 6th standard, when my Literature marks plummeted due to my ‘wrong’ analysis of Wordsworth’s poem, ‘Daffodils’; I have hated every single poem from the Romanticism Era. If you saw a 10-year-old me tearing up a hundred copies of Romantic poems, it would be no surprise. The hate was deeply rooted inside of me and still is, at least it was till a few days ago.
My mother had picked up this book, against my will because apparently, I needed to read more poetry from the Romanticism Era. I had low, well almost no expectations from this book because well, of the 10-year-old me.
As soon as I opened this book I was surprised (well, I was more sleepy since these poems were long, and I do not advise you to read them at 11:30 in the night).
This book is the best poetry book I’ve ever read.
The imagery is amazing, you could close your eyes and imagine the scenes, the romance playing out between the characters. You could sense the leaves, the flowers, the pure passion put into these poems.
The Greek Mythology references are the cherry on top. The sheer godliness and the prettiness paired with the beautiful writing, make this an excellent read.
But, I would take off 0.5 stars for the same Greek Mythology references. I liked them, but not many people have a vast knowledge about the topic, making it harder to understand the emotions.
But even without knowing anything, you could feel the pure, raw emotions in these poems, the passion, the feelings, the personality.
Well, I could go on about this book. But, what's important is that you, dear readers, read at least one poem by this author and feel what I can.
Poetry is emotions, poetry is feeling what the poet felt.
So dear reader, can you feel what I am saying, can you hear the voice in your heart that shouts, “Read! Feel!” Dear reader, can you hear it, can you hear me, shouting and screaming, imploring you to read this book?
January 11, 2018
I've cheated a little here. The printing is rather small in a dense serif font, which doesn't help my enjoyment. This book consists mainly of Endymion, alongside many other smaller works. I read all those (my favourites being the Robin Hood and the Mermaid Tavern ones) but like with Wordsworth's book I read last year, I wasn't wildly astounded by the 'short' poems, being as they are odes to extremely minor things such as people/places I don't know or dandelions, rocky crags and pebbles. I like nature and wildlife as much as anyone but my patience is tested when people wax lyrical over a dozen pages about them, especially when using mostly opaque dated poetry that doesn't always satisfactorily scan, rhyme or even make sense. Wordsworth and Keats are both clearly extremely clever writers. Maybe I'm a heathen, but I need writing to have a point and direction other than just being vaguely evocative of a time and place. As with Wordsworth, Keats conjures up some lovely imagery and beautiful lines on occasion, but as I've read Endymion long ago, I can't bring myself to read this 108-page poem again when I can only understand about 5% of it, masterpiece though it may be. Sorry. 3.25/5
August 9, 2021
This collection of sixty-one poems from the early 19th century British Romantic poet contains a diverse cross-section of poems. While 61 poems might not seem like a substantial selection by today’s standards, this volume includes several long form poems such a “Lamia,” “Hyperion,” and a long excerpt from “Endymion.” It includes all of Keats’ most popular and anthologized works, including: “Ode to a Grecian Urn,” “To Sleep,” “Bright Star…,” “To Autumn,” and “Ode to a Nightingale.” Among the works included are short, medium, and long poems; rhymed verse and blank verse; sonnets and ballads; love poems, nature poems, Greek Mythological fan fiction [in verse,] and homages to important influences -- e.g. Shakespeare.
Keats died at 25, making it all the more impressive that he had a body of work from which such a fine selection could be pulled. His imagery is vivid, and his lyricism is musical. I’d highly recommend this collection as an excellent overview of Keats’ poetry.
Keats died at 25, making it all the more impressive that he had a body of work from which such a fine selection could be pulled. His imagery is vivid, and his lyricism is musical. I’d highly recommend this collection as an excellent overview of Keats’ poetry.
July 6, 2017
Originally I started reading these poems as part of my English Lit course as we studied a selection of the anthology. Keat's writing is absolutely beautiful and draws heavily upon Greeco-Roman mythology (Endymion, Hyperion, Ode to Psyche, etc all are based on the gods/goddesses/titans/mortals of the mythological world). Therefore it's no surprise that I feel in love with his work as these classical tales are some of my favourite things.
It's been stated by some scholars that by Keat's death, aged 25, he'd written more works of note than Shakespeare and Milton had combined by the time they were 25, thus suggesting that if he'd lived longer Keats may have become the greatest writer of the English language. From reading this collection I feel like that sentiment is truthful and founded in some of the most engaging poetry I've read.
It's been stated by some scholars that by Keat's death, aged 25, he'd written more works of note than Shakespeare and Milton had combined by the time they were 25, thus suggesting that if he'd lived longer Keats may have become the greatest writer of the English language. From reading this collection I feel like that sentiment is truthful and founded in some of the most engaging poetry I've read.
Read
April 12, 2020I don't think you can read Keats: certainly I dipped into these selected poems. Nor do I think you can 'rate' any of England's poets of the Romantic movement, Byron or Shelley, just as you wouldn't give stars to a Shakespeare play. I am not a fan of this style of poetry with all its connived rhymes and classical allusion, but you cannot but feel for Keats and his short, tragic life of 26 years - his father, mother and brother, Tom, all dying of tuberculosis, his broken engagement with Fanny Brawne. The one thing I have learnt from this book is that there is so much more to Keats than "An Ode to a Grecian Urn". From his odes to his ballads and his epics, he wrote with passion and personal insight into beauty, love and loss.
"When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain..."
"When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain..."
September 8, 2017
Penguin delivers an ample selection of Keats’ greatest hits, posthumously published pieces, and lesser-known poems. The breadth reminds that Keats is a brighter star, de-pigeonholing him from the category of tragic, ‘early slain’ St. Sebastian-lipped romantic, or the-name-rings-a-bell penman of a few famed odes. His lines, exasperatingly for the have-a-go aspiring poet, are very nearly all possessed of an astonishing gemlike beauty: Or where God Bacchus drains his cups divine, / Stretched out, at ease, beneath a glutinous pine; / Or where in Pluto’s gardens palatine / Mulciber’s columns gleam in far piazzian line. (Lamia, I:209-12). Regrettably, Endymion is abridged.
April 18, 2022
“As to the poetical Character itself, it is not itself – it has no self – It is everything and nothing – It has no character – it enjoys light and shade […] A poet is the most unpoetical of anything in existence, because he has no Identity – he is continually in for and filling some other body. The Sun, – the Moon, – the Sea, and men and women, who are creatures of impulse, are poetical, and have about them an unchangeable attribute; the poet has none, no identity – he is certainly the most unpoetical of all God’s creatures.”
Keats has a handful of astounding poems, but it was the tenderness, the insight, the sadness of his letters which profoundly moved me.
Keats has a handful of astounding poems, but it was the tenderness, the insight, the sadness of his letters which profoundly moved me.
November 2, 2023
John Keat’s Selected Poems, was my first delve into Keats. It’s not often I read poetry—I’m trying to read more. I had mixed feelings about Keats’ work. Loved his more epic poems, such as Hyperion, Lamia, and the Eve of St Agnes. But, with the exception of a few turns of phrase, here and there, I struggled with his other, generally smaller poems. I won’t be throwing this away. But I’m not sure Keats is the poet for me. I think I’ll delve into some T. S. Elliot next.
With regards to the penguin edition: as always with penguin, excellent. Although, with so many poems labelled as ‘unpublished by Keats’, one wonders if he would have been as impressed.
With regards to the penguin edition: as always with penguin, excellent. Although, with so many poems labelled as ‘unpublished by Keats’, one wonders if he would have been as impressed.
May 14, 2022
Although the best poems in here are basically perfect, and there were a lot of other good-great ones, as a poet who died young, Keats' oeuvre is small and has to be padded out with quite a lot of unpublished poems which are often mediocre or incomplete. As a result, this was a real slog to get through because for every era-defining, stunningly beautiful and unique poem, there's three half-complete, imperfect, unfocussed ones thrown in by the editor.
August 16, 2022
V
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast fading violets cover’d up in leaves;
And mid-May’s eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves
Ode to Nightingale
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast fading violets cover’d up in leaves;
And mid-May’s eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves
Ode to Nightingale
Read
November 24, 2023Piękna poezja ale czasem nie wiem o czym😭
Mam wrażenie, że przez długość utworów robią się bardziej mętne i nie uderzają mocno w serce, John trochę gubi plot.
Mimo to wciąż dobra liryka do czytania na głos i na drzewie w parku, a Keats to mistrz opisu scenerii. Jego styl chyba nie dla mnie, ale nie szkodzi, swoich fanów i tak chłopak ma, nie będzie mu przykro.
Personal favourites to definitywnie „Fall of Hyperion. A dream” i „Isabela”, bangers
Mam wrażenie, że przez długość utworów robią się bardziej mętne i nie uderzają mocno w serce, John trochę gubi plot.
Mimo to wciąż dobra liryka do czytania na głos i na drzewie w parku, a Keats to mistrz opisu scenerii. Jego styl chyba nie dla mnie, ale nie szkodzi, swoich fanów i tak chłopak ma, nie będzie mu przykro.
Personal favourites to definitywnie „Fall of Hyperion. A dream” i „Isabela”, bangers
May 14, 2024
My absolute favourite Romantic poet, Keats’ work moves me beyond words. The language choices are divine and it helps me experience the synaesthesia that Keats is so renowned for including in his poetry. Such a tragic life this man led, yet despite it the words that he has written down are beyond beauty. I recommend Keats’ poetry to the moon and back.
‘Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on’
‘Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on’
March 6, 2023
A similar experience for me with Wordsworth's poems, in that the words often fly over my head (but not in a manner that I think was that clever, more just dull). The longer pieces were often a challenge to get through and there aren't many poems that I will take away fondly. I am left mostly unaffected and am much looking forward to the small anthology I get to read now :)
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