The Grave Of Keats

Related poetry:

1. 176. On the Death of John M'Leod, Esq SAD thy tale, thou idle page, And rueful thy alarms: Death tears the brother of her love From Isabella’s arms. Sweetly deckt with pearly dew The morning rose may blow; But cold successive noontide blasts May lay its beauties low. Fair on Isabella’s morn The sun propitious smil’d; But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds Succeeding […]...
2. 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 […]...
3. 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 […]...
4. At His Grave LEAVE me a little while alone, Here at his grave that still is strown With crumbling flower and wreath; The laughing rivulet leaps and falls, The thrush exults, the cuckoo calls, And he lies hush’d beneath. With myrtle cross and crown of rose, And every lowlier flower that blows, His new-made couch is dress’d; Primrose […]...
5. John Keats Who killed John Keats? ‘I,’ says the Quarterly, So savage and Tartarly; ”Twas one of my feats.’ Who shot the arrow? ‘The poet-priest Milman (So ready to kill man), Or Southey or Barrow.’...
6. 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 […]...
7. The Color of the Grave is Green The Color of the Grave is Green The Outer Grave I mean You would not know it from the Field Except it own a Stone To help the fond to find it Too infinite asleep To stop and tell them where it is But just a Daisy deep The Color of the Grave is white […]...
8. A Grave Man looking into the sea, Taking the view from those who have as much right to it as you have to it yourself, It is human nature to stand in the middle of a thing, But you cannot stand in the middle of this; The sea has nothing to give but a well excavated grave. […]...
9. At Wilfred Owen's Grave A week before the Armistice, you died. They did not keep your heart like Livingstone’s, Then plant your bones near Shakespeare’s. So you lie Between two privates, sacrificed like Christ To politics, your poetry unknown Except for that brief flurry’s: thirteen months With Gaukroger beside you in the trench, Dismembered, as you babbled, as the […]...
10. 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 […]...
11. In The Kalahari Desert The sun rose like a tarnished Looking-glass to catch the sun And flash His hot message At the missionaries below Isabella and the Rev. Roger Price, And the Helmores with a broken axle Left, two days behind, at Fever Ponds. The wilderness was full of home: A glinting beetle on its back Struggled like an […]...
12. Rome at the Pyramid of Cestius Near the Graves of Shelley and Keats Who, then, was Cestius, And what is he to me? – Amid thick thoughts and memories multitudinous One thought alone brings he. I can recall no word Of anything he did; For me he is a man who died and was interred To leave a pyramid Whose purpose was exprest Not with its first design, […]...
13. Sonnet XXIV Mine eye hath play’d the painter and hath stell’d Thy beauty’s form in table of my heart; My body is the frame wherein ’tis held, And perspective it is the painter’s art. For through the painter must you see his skill, To find where your true image pictured lies; Which in my bosom’s shop is […]...
14. Sonnet 24: Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled Thy beauty’s form in table of my heart; My body is the frame wherein ’tis held, And perspective it is best painter’s art. For through the painter must you see his skill To find where your true image pictured lies, Which in my bosom’s shop is […]...
15. My Lady's Grave THE linnet in the rocky dells, The moor-lark in the air, The bee among the heather bells That hide my lady fair: The wild deer browse above her breast; The wild birds raise their brood; And they, her smiles of love caress’d, Have left her solitude! I ween that when the grave’s dark wall Did […]...
16. The Grave Of Shelley Like burnt-out torches by a sick man’s bed Gaunt cypress-trees stand round the sun-bleached stone; Here doth the little night-owl make her throne, And the slight lizard show his jewelled head. And, where the chaliced poppies flame to red, In the still chamber of yon pyramid Surely some Old-World Sphinx lurks darkly hid, Grim warder […]...
17. 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 […]...
18. Forever I With you I shall ever be; Over land and sea My thoughts will companion you; With yours shall my laughter chime, And my step keep time In the dusk and dew With yours in blithesome rhyme; In all of your joy shall I rejoice, On my lips your sorrow shall find a voice, And […]...
19. From: A King Of Kings, A King Among The Kings Come, let us rejoice in James Joyce, in the greatness of this poet, king, and king of poets For he is our poor dead king, he is the monarch and Caesar of English, he is the veritable King of the King’s English The English of the life of the city, and the English of music; […]...
20. Stand Fast! Stand fast, Great Britain! Together England, Scotland, Ireland stand One in the faith that makes a mighty land, True to the bond you gave and will not break And fearless in the fight for conscience’ sake! Against the Giant Robber clad in steel, With blood of trampled Belgium on his heel, Striding through France to […]...
21. My Land and I They have eaten their fill at your tables spread, Like friends since the land was won; And they rise with a cry of “Australia’s dead!” With the wheeze of “Australia’s done!” Oh, the theme is stale, but they tell the tale (How the weak old tale will keep!) Like the crows that croak on a […]...
22. Life and Art Not while the fever of the blood is strong, The heart throbs loud, the eyes are veiled, no less With passion than with tears, the Muse shall bless The poet-sould to help and soothe with song. Not then she bids his trembling lips express The aching gladness, the voluptuous pain. Life is his poem then; […]...
23. At The Executed Murderer's Grave for J. L. D. Why should we do this? What good is it to us? Above all, How can we do such a thing? How can it possibly be done? Freud 1. My name is James A. Wright, and I was born Twenty-five miles from this infected grave, In Martins Ferry, Ohio, where one slave […]...
24. Churchill's Grave I stood beside the grave of him who blazed The comet of a season, and I saw The humblest of all sepulchres, and gazed With not the less of sorrow and of awe On that neglected turf and quiet stone, With name no clearer than the names unknown, Which lay unread around it; and asked […]...
25. 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 […]...
26. At the grave of Anastasia Baluk – Cross Stone Anastasia And the sad snow falling A toiling sky And a long white line of hills A distant birthplace Short span and early dying Pain from what heaven Sorrowed your slope of life? Through valley’s throat Run double veins of water Feverish river Somnolent canal – the vein of the metal rail And the trundling […]...
27. The Grave and The Rose The Grave said to the Rose, “What of the dews of dawn, Love’s flower, what end is theirs?” “And what of spirits flown, The souls whereon doth close The tomb’s mouth unawares?” The Rose said to the Grave. The Rose said, “In the shade From the dawn’s tears is made A perfume faint and strange, […]...
28. America Once in English they said America. Was it English to them. Once they said Belgian. We like a fog. Do you for weather. Are we brave. Are we true. Have we the national colour. Can we stand ditches. Can we mean well. Do we talk together. Have we red cross. A great many people speak […]...
29. Wapentake To Alfred Tennyson Poet! I come to touch thy lance with mine; Not as a knight, who on the listed field Of tourney touched his adversary’s shield In token of defiance, but in sign Of homage to the mastery, which is thine, In English song; nor will I keep concealed, And voiceless as a rivulet […]...
30. Bring, In This Timeless Grave To Throw XLVI Bring, in this timeless grave to throw No cypress, sombre on the snow; Snap not from the bitter yew His leaves that live December through; Break no rosemary, bright with rime And sparkling to the cruel crime; Nor plod the winter land to look For willows in the icy brook To cast them leafless […]...
31. Earthfast Architects plant their imagination, weld their poems on rock, Clamp them to the skidding rim of the world and anchor them down to its core; Leave more than the painter’s or poet’s snail-bright trail on a friable leaf; Can build their chrysalis round them – stand in their sculpture’s belly. They see through stone, they […]...
32. All That I Owe The Fellows Of The Grave All that I owe the fellows of the grave And all the dead bequeathed from pale estates Lies in the fortuned bone, the flask of blood, Like senna stirs along the ravaged roots. O all I owe is all the flesh inherits, My fathers’ loves that pull upon my nerves, My sisters tears that sing […]...
33. HIS MISTRESS TO HIM AT HIS FAREWELL You may vow I’ll not forget To pay the debt Which to thy memory stands as due As faith can seal it you. Take then tribute of my tears; So long as I have fears To prompt me, I shall ever Languish and look, but thy return see never. Oh then to lessen my despair, […]...
34. June Dreams, In January “So pulse, and pulse, thou rhythmic-hearted Noon That liest, large-limbed, curved along the hills, In languid palpitation, half a-swoon With ardors and sun-loves and subtle thrills; “Throb, Beautiful! while the fervent hours exhale As kisses faint-blown from thy finger-tips Up to the sun, that turn him passion-pale And then as red as any virgin’s lips. […]...
35. Sonnet 06 – Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore Alone upon the threshold of my door Of individual life, I shall command The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand Serenely in the sunshine as before, Without the sense of that which I forbore- Thy touch upon the […]...
36. Out of White Lips OUT of white lips a question: Shall seven million dead ask for their blood a little land for the living wives and children, a little land for the living brothers and sisters? Out of white lips:-Shall they have only air that sweeps round the earth for breath of their nostrils and no footing on the […]...
37. 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 […]...
38. The grave my little cottage is The grave my little cottage is, Where “Keeping house” for thee I make my parlor orderly And lay the marble tea. For two divided, briefly, A cycle, it may be, Till everlasting life unite In strong society....
39. ANACREON'S GRAVE HERE where the roses blossom, where vines round the laurels are Twining, Where the turtle-dove calls, where the blithe cricket is heard, Say, whose grave can this be, with life by all the Immortals Beauteously planted and deck’d? Here doth Anacreon sleep Spring and summer and autumn rejoiced the thrice-happy minstrel, And from the winter […]...
40. Strong Beer “What do you think The bravest drink Under the sky?” “Strong beer,” said I. “There’s a place for everything, Everything, anything, There’s a place for everything Where it ought to be: For a chicken, the hen’s wing; For poison, the bee’s sting; For almond-blossom, Spring; A beerhouse for me.” “There’s a prize for every one […]...