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Collected Poems of John Keats : Volume 5, The Reader's Library

By Keats, John

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Book Id: WPLBN0003468558
Format Type: PDF (eBook)
File Size: 1.27 MB.
Reproduction Date: 11/7/2014

Title: Collected Poems of John Keats : Volume 5, The Reader's Library  
Author: Keats, John
Volume: Volume Volume 5, The Reader's Library
Language: English
Subject: Fiction, Poerty, British Poetry
Collections: Poetry, Authors Community, Internal Medicine, Recreation, Music, Literature, Language, Medicine, Fine Arts, Naval Science, Most Popular Books in China, Law, Favorites in India, History
Historic
Publication Date:
2014
Publisher: William Ralph Press
Member Page: Neil Azevedo

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Keats, J. (2014). Collected Poems of John Keats : Volume 5, The Reader's Library. Retrieved from http://www.gutenberg.cc/


Description
A meticulously edited edition of John Keats’ verse collecting all of his poems sans his two long verse plays. Keats was born in London, England, on October 31, 1795. He dedicated his short life to the creation of poetry characterized by its sensuous and vivid imagery, classical themes, technical mastery and sincere and authentic emotional tenor. He died tragically young in 1821 of tuberculosis, a disease that had plagued his life since he took a walking tour of the Lake District in 1818. Volume 5 in The Reader's Library Series. ISBN: 978-1-932023-47-3 https://www.facebook.com/williamralpheditions

Summary
A meticulously edited edition of John Keats’ verse collecting all of his poems omitting his two long verse plays.

Excerpt
Ode to a Nightingale I My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains     My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains     One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: ’Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,     But being too happy in thine happiness,—         That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,             In some melodious plot     Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,         Singest of summer in full-throated ease.   II O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been     Cool’d a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green,     Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South,     Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,         With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,             And purple-stained mouth;     That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,         And with thee fade away into the forest dim:   III Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget     What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret     Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,     “Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;         Where but to think is to be full of sorrow             And leaden-eyed despairs,     Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,         Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.   IV Away! away! for I will fly to thee,     Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy,     Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee! tender is the night,     And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,         Cluster’d around by all her starry Fays;             But here there is no light,     Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown         Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.   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.   VI Darkling I listen; and, for many a time     I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call’d him soft names in many a mused rhyme,     To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die,     To cease upon the midnight with no pain,         While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad             In such an ecstasy!     Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—         To thy high requiem become a sod.   VII Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!     No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard     In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path     Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,         She stood in tears amid the alien corn;             The same that oft-times hath     Charm’d magic casements, opening on the foam  Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.   VIII Forlorn! the very word is like a bell     To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well     As she is fam’d to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades     Past the near meadows, over the still stream,         Up the hill-side; and now ’tis buried deep             In the next valley-glades:     Was it a vision, or a waking dream?         Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?

Table of Contents
Contents Introduction Imitation of Spencer On Peace On Death Lines Written on 29 May, the Anniversary of Charles’ Restoration, on Hearing Bells Ringing Song: Stay, Ruby Breasted Warbler, Stay Fill for Me a Brimming Bowl As from the Darkening Gloom a Silver Dove To Lord Byron To Chatterton Written on the Day that Mr. Leigh Hunt Left Prison To Hope Ode to Apollo To Some Ladies On Receiving a Curious Shell, and a Copy of Verses, from the Same Ladies To Emma Woman! When I Behold Thee Flippant, Vain Sonnet to Solitude Epistle to George Felton Mathew To —— (Had I a Man's Fair Form...) To —— (Hadst Thou Liv'd in Days of Old...) I Am As Brisk Women, Wine, and Snuff Specimen of an Induction to a Poem Calidore To One Who Has Been Long in City Pent Oh! How I Love, on a Fair Summer's Eve To a Friend Who Sent Me Some Roses Happy Is England! I Could Be Content To My Brother George Epistle to My Brother George Epistle to Charles Cowden Clarke How Many Bards Gild the Lapses of Time! On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer Keen, Fitful Gusts Are Whisp’ring Here and There On Leaving Some Friends at an Early Hour To My Brothers Addressed to Benjamin Robert Haydon To G(eorgina) A(ugusta) W(ylie) To Kosciusko Sleep and Poetry I Stood Tip-Toe upon a Little Hill Written in Disgust of Vulgar Superstition On the Grasshopper and Cricket After Dark Vapours Have Oppressed Our Plains To a Young Lady Who Sent Me a Laurel Crown On Receiving a Laurel Crown from Leigh Hunt To the Ladies Who Saw Me Crowned Hymn to Apollo Written on the Blank Space of a Leaf at the End of Chaucer's "Tale of the Flowre and the Lefe" To Leigh Hunt, Esq. On Seeing the Elgin Marbles To Haydon with a Sonnet Written on Seeing the Elgin Marbles On a Leander Gem which Miss Reynolds, My Kind Friend, Gave Me On Leigh Hunt’s Poem, the "Story of Rimini" On the Sea Lines (Unfelt, Unheard, Unseen...) Hither, Hither, Love— You Say You Love Nebuchadnezzar’s Dream The Gothic Looks Solemn O Grant That Like to Peter I On—— (Think Not of It Sweet One So) Endymion Book I Book II Book III Book IV Stanzas: In a Drear-Nighted December Apollo to the Graces To Mrs. Reynolds's Cat Lines on Seeing a Lock of Milton’s Hair On Sitting Down to Read King Lear Once Again When I Have Fears That I May Cease to Be Lines on the Mermaid Tavern Sharing Eve's Apple Hence Burgundy, Claret, and Port God of the Meridian! Robin Hood Welcome Joy, and Welcome Sorrow To a Lady Seen for a Few Moments at Vauxhall To the Nile Spenser! A Jealous Honourer of Thine Blue!—'Tis the Life of Heaven—the Domain What The Thrush Said: Lines from a Letter to John Hamilton Reynolds Extracts from an Opera The Human Seasons Sonnet: To A(ubrey) G(eorge) S(pencer) Teignmouth The Devon Maid Dawlish Fair Epistle to John Hamilton Reynolds To J(ames) R(ice) Isabella, or, The Pot of Basil Fragment of an Ode to Maia To Homer An Acrostic Sweet, Sweet Is the Greetings of the Eyes On Visiting the Tomb of Burns Written in the Cottage Where Burns Was Born Staffa, the Island Fingal’s Cave Written upon the Top of Ben Nevis To Ailsa Rock Meg Merrilies A Song about Myself A Galloway Song The Gadfly Of Late Two Dainties Were before Me Plac'd Lines Written in the Highlands after a Visit to Burns' Country Ben Nevis: A Dialogue Stanzas on Some Skulls in Beauly Abbey, Near Inverness Translated from Ronsard The Castle Builder Modern Love A Prophesy: To His Brother George in America Where's the Poet? Fancy Ode: Bards of Passion and of Mirth Song: Written on a Blank Page in Beaumont and Fletcher's Works Song: I Had a Dove, and the Sweet Dove Died Song: Hush, Hush, Tread Softly, Hush, Hush, My Dear Ah! Woe Is Me! Poor Silver-Wing! The Eve of St. Agnes The Eve of St. Mark Gif Ye Wol Stonden Hardie Wight Why Did I Laugh Tonight? An Extempore A Dream, after Reading Dante's Episode of Paola and Francesca “Character of Charles Brown Bright star! Would I Were Steadfast As Thou Art— Hyperion Book I Book II Book III La Belle Dame Sans Merci Song of Four Faries Fire, Air, Earth, and Water Sonnet to Sleep Ode to Psyche On Fame (I) On Fame (II) If by Dull Rhymes Our English Must Be Chain'd Two or Three Posies Ode to a Nightingale Ode on a Grecian Urn Ode on Melancholy Ode on Indolence Shed No Tear! Oh, Shed No Tear! Lamia A Party of Lovers To Autumn The Fall of Hyperion A Dream The House of Mourning Written by Mr. Scott The Day Is Gone, and All Its Sweets Are Gone! I Cry Your Mercy—Pity—Love—Ay, Love! To—— (What Can I Do to Drive Away) To Fanny This Living Hand, Now Warm and Capable The Cap and Bells; or, the Jealousies, a Faery Tale In After-Time a Sage of Mickle Lore About the Editor Also from William Ralph Press

 

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