John Keats

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1. What Kisses Had John Keats? I scanned two lines with some surmise As over Keats I chanced to pore: ‘And there I shut her wild, wild eyes With kisses four.’ Says I: ‘Why was it only four, Not five or six or seven? I think I would have made it more, Even eleven. ‘Gee! If she’d lured a guy like […]...
2. John Anderson John Anderson, my jo John, When we were first acquent Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent; But now your brow is bald, John, Your locks are like the snow; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my jo! John Anderson, my jo John, We clamb the hill thegither, And […]...
3. 271. Song-John Anderson, My Jo JOHN ANDERSON, my jo, John, When we were first acquent; Your locks were like the raven, Your bonie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither; And […]...
4. Adonais: An Elegy on the Death of John Keats I weep for Adonais he is dead! Oh, weep for Adonais! though our tears Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head! And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers, And teach them thine own sorrow, say: “With me Died Adonais; till the Future dares […]...
5. To John Keats Great master! Boyish, sympathetic man! Whose orbed and ripened genius lightly hung From life’s slim, twisted tendril and there swung In crimson-sphered completeness; guardian Of crystal portals through whose openings fan The spiced winds which blew when earth was young, Scattering wreaths of stars, as Jove once flung A golden shower from heights cerulean. Crumbled […]...
6. On Receiving a Crown of Ivy from John Keats It is a lofty feeling, yet a kind, Thus to be topped with leaves; to have a sense Of honour-shaded thought, an influence As from great nature’s fingers, and be twined With her old, sacred, verdurous ivy-bind, As though she hallowed with that sylvan fence A head that bows to her benevolence, Midst pomp of […]...
7. John Gorham “Tell me what you’re doing over here, John Gorham, Sighing hard and seeming to be sorry when you’re not; Make me laugh or let me go now, for long faces in the moonlight Are a sign for me to say again a word that you forgot.”- “I’m over here to tell you what the moon […]...
8. John Evereldown “Where are you going to-night, to-night, Where are you going, John Evereldown? There’s never the sign of a star in sight, Nor a lamp that’s nearer than Tilbury Town. Why do you stare as a dead man might? Where are you pointing away from the light? And where are you going to-night, to-night, Where are […]...
9. No, Thank You John I never said I loved you, John: Why will you tease me day by day, And wax a weariness to think upon With always “do” and “pray”? You Know I never loved you, John; No fault of mine made me your toast: Why will you haunt me with a face as wan As shows an […]...
10. Let Them Alone If God has been good enough to give you a poet Then listen to him. But for God’s sake let him alone until he is dead; No prizes, no ceremony, They kill the man. A poet is one who listens To nature and his own heart; and if the noise of the world grows up […]...
11. John Rouat the Fisherman Margaret Simpson was the daughter of humble parents in the county of Ayr, With a comely figure, and face of beauty rare, And just in the full bloom of her womanhood, Was united to John Rouat, a fisherman good. John’s fortune consisted of his coble, three oars, and his fishing-gear, Besides his two stout boys, […]...
12. John Barleycorn There were three kings into the east, Three kings both great and high, An’ they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die. They took a plough and ploughed him down, Put clods upon his head; An’ they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead. But the cheerfu’ spring came kindly on, […]...
13. On John Dawson, Butler Of C. C Dawson the Butler’s dead: Although I think Poets were ne’er infusde with single drinke Ile spend a farthing muse; some watry verse Will serve the turne to cast upon his hearse; If any cannot weepe amongst us here Take off his pott, and so squeeze out a tear: Weepe, O his cheeses, weepe till yee […]...
14. 26. John Barleycorn: A Ballad THERE was three kings into the east, Three kings both great and high, And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die. They took a plough and plough’d him down, Put clods upon his head, And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead. But the cheerful Spring came kindly on, […]...
15. 217. Song-The Lad they ca' Jumpin John HER daddie forbad, her minnie forbad Forbidden she wadna be: She wadna trow’t the browst she brew’d, Wad taste sae bitterlie. Chorus.-The lang lad they ca’Jumpin John Beguil’d the bonie lassie, The lang lad they ca’Jumpin John Beguil’d the bonie lassie. A cow and a cauf, a yowe and a hauf, And thretty gude shillin’s […]...
16. John Skelton What could be dafter Than John Skelton’s laughter? What sound more tenderly Than his pretty poetry? So where to rank old Skelton? He was no monstrous Milton, Nor wrote no “Paradise Lost,” So wondered at by most, Phrased so disdainfully, Composed so painfully. He struck what Milton missed, Milling an English grist With homely turn […]...
17. The Grave Of Keats Rid of the world’s injustice, and his pain, He rests at last beneath God’s veil of blue: Taken from life when life and love were new The youngest of the martyrs here is lain, Fair as Sebastian, and as early slain. No cypress shades his grave, no funeral yew, But gentle violets weeping with the […]...
18. The Death of Robin Hood “Give me my bow,” said Robin Hood, “An arrow give to me; And where ‘t is shot mark thou that spot, For there my grave shall be.” Then Little John did make no sign, And not a word he spake; But he smiled, altho’ with mickle woe His heart was like to break. He raised […]...
19. Keats The young Endymion sleeps Endymion’s sleep; The shepherd-boy whose tale was left half told! The solemn grove uplifts its shield of gold To the red rising moon, and loud and deep The nightingale is singing from the steep; It is midsummer, but the air is cold; Can it be death? Alas, beside the fold A […]...
20. Keats The melancholy gift Aurora gained From Jove, that her sad lover should not see The face of death, no goddess asked for thee, My Keats! But when the crimson blood-drop stained Thy pillow, thou didst read the fate ordained, Brief life, wild love, a flight of poesy! And then, a shadow fell on Italy: Thy […]...
21. John Horace Burleson I won the prize essay at school Here in the village, And published a novel before I was twenty-five. I went to the city for themes and to enrich my art; There married the banker’s daughter, And later became president of the bank- Always looking forward to some leisure To write an epic novel of […]...
22. 41. Epistle to John Rankine O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Rankine, The wale o’ cocks for fun an’ drinkin! There’s mony godly folks are thinkin, Your dreams and tricks Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin Straught to auld Nick’s. Ye hae saw mony cracks an’ cants, And in your wicked, drucken rants, Ye mak a devil o’ the saunts, An’ fill them […]...
23. A Ballad of John Nicholson It fell in the year of Mutiny, At darkest of the night, John Nicholson by Jalбndhar came, On his way to Delhi fight. And as he by Jalбndhar came, He thought what he must do, And he sent to the Rajah fair greeting, To try if he were true. “God grant your Highness length of […]...
24. Travels With John Hunter We who travel between worlds Lose our muscle and bone. I was wheeling a barrow of earth When agony bayoneted me. I could not sit, or lie down, Or stand, in Casualty. Stomach-calming clay caked my lips, I turned yellow as the moon And slid inside a CAT-scan wheel In a hospital where I met […]...
25. When I'm Killed When I’m killed, don’t think of me Buried there in Cambrin Wood, Nor as in Zion think of me With the Intolerable Good. And there’s one thing that I know well, I’m damned if I’ll be damned to Hell! So when I’m killed, don’t wait for me, Walking the dim corridor; In Heaven or Hell, […]...
26. The Late Sir John Ogilvy Alas! Sir John Ogilvy is dead, aged eighty-seven, But I hope his soul is now in heaven; For he was a generous-hearted gentleman I am sure, And, in particular, very kind unto the poor. He was a Christian gentleman in every degree, And, for many years, was an M. P. for Bonnie Dundee, And, while […]...
27. Suggested by the Cover of a Volume of Keats's Poems Wild little bird, who chose thee for a sign To put upon the cover of this book? Who heard thee singing in the distance dim, The vague, far greenness of the enshrouding wood, When the damp freshness of the morning earth Was full of pungent sweetness and thy song? Who followed over moss and twisted […]...
28. ON FIRST READING JOHN GOODBY'S 'IRISH POETRY SINCE 1950&#039 Barbarous insult to Yeats’ memory and Claudel’s Allen, thank God you are dead, you who breathed the air of Apollinaire, Ghost of Reverdy bear witness to the mendacity of his clamour, Hart Crane, rise from the estuary of the great river you drowned in, John Clare, rise from your country churchyard grave, Gray, from your […]...
29. Ode for the Keats Centenary The Muse is stern unto her favoured sons, Giving to some the keys of all the joy Of the green earth, but holding even that joy Back from their life; Bidding them feed on hope, A plant of bitter growth, Deep-rooted in the past; Truth, ’tis a doubtful art To make Hope sweeten Time as […]...
30. That Sweet Flute John Clare That sweet flute John Clare; That broken branch Eddy Whitman; Christopher Smart, in the press of blazing electricity; My uncle the suicide; Woolf, on her way to the river; Wolf, of the sorrowful songs; Swift, impenetrable mask of Dublin; Schumann, climbing the bridge, leaping into the Rhine; Ruskin, Cowper; Poe, rambling in the gloom-bins of […]...
31. St. John's, Cambridge I stand beneath the tree, whose branches shade Thy western window, Chapel of St. John! And hear its leaves repeat their benison On him, whose hand thy stones memorial laid; Then I remember one of whom was said In the world’s darkest hour, “Behold thy son!” And see him living still, and wandering on And […]...
32. 16-bit Intel 8088 chip with an Apple Macintosh You can’t run Radio Shack programs In its disc drive. Nor can a Commodore 64 Drive read a file You have created on an IBM Personal Computer. Both Kaypro and Osborne computers use The CP/M operating system But can’t read each other’s Handwriting For they format (write On) discs in different […]...
33. AN EVENING WITH JOHN HEATH-STUBBS Alone in Sutton with Fynbos my orange cat A long weekend of wind and rain drowning The tumultuous flurry of mid-February blossom A surfeit of letters to work through, a mountain Of files to sort, some irritation at the thought Of travelling to Kentish Town alone when My mind was flooded with the mellifluous voice […]...
34. John Donne – The Paradox No Lover saith, I love, nor any other Can judge a perfect Lover; Hee thinkes that else none can, nor will agree That any loves but hee; I cannot say I’lov’d. for who can say Hee was kill’d yesterday? Lover withh excesse of heat, more yong than old, Death kills with too much cold; Wee […]...
35. TO HIS PECULIAR FRIEND, MR JOHN WICKS Since shed or cottage I have none, I sing the more, that thou hast one; To whose glad threshold, and free door I may a Poet come, though poor; And eat with thee a savoury bit, Paying but common thanks for it. Yet should I chance, my Wicks, to see An over-leaven look in thee, […]...
36. The Man He Killed Had he and I but met By some old ancient inn, We should have set us down to wet Right many a nipperkin! But ranged as infantry, And staring face to face, I shot at him as he at me, And killed him in his place. I shot him dead because Because he was my […]...
37. John Kinsella's Lament For Mrs. Mary Moore I A bloody and a sudden end, Gunshot or a noose, For Death who takes what man would keep, Leaves what man would lose. He might have had my sister, My cousins by the score, But nothing satisfied the fool But my dear Mary Moore, None other knows what pleasures man At table or in […]...
38. Hate ONE man killed another. The saying between them had been “I’d give you the shirt off my back.” The killer wept over the dead. The dead if he looks back knows the killer was sorry. It was a shot in one second of hate out of ten years of love. Why is the sun a […]...
39. Bells For John Whiteside's Daughter There was such speed in her little body, And such lightness in her footfall, It is no wonder her brown study Astonishes us all Her wars were bruited in our high window. We looked among orchard trees and beyond Where she took arms against her shadow, Or harried unto the pond The lazy geese, like […]...
40. An Old Story (Retold in Rhyme) They threw him in a prison cell; He moaned upon his bed. And when he crept from coils of hell: “Last night you killed,” they said. “last night in drunken rage you slew A being brave with breath; A radiant soul, because of you Lies dark in death.” “last night I killed,” […]...