Do you like Keats? What Keats do you like?
>>25290417I love him. It makes me sad that he and Byron hated each other since they were both geniuses. 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.
>>25290421>he and Byron hated each otherOh that is a shame. I knew Byron hated Wordsworth and Coleridge, but since Shelley liked Keats I assumed Byron did too.
>>25290417I do; I read him quite a bit in university but never enough to appreciate his work fully.
>>25290424I'm not an expert, but I think Byron hated Keats largely out of class prejudice and Keats, naturally, resented Byron's prejudice and replied with scorn.
>>25290417Where be ye going, you Devon Maid?And what have ye there in the Basket?Ye tight little fairy just fresh from the dairy,Will ye give me some cream if I ask it?I love your Meads, and I love your flowers,And I love your junkets mainly,But 'hind the door I love kissing more,O look not so disdainly.I love your hills, and I love your dales,And I love your flocks a-bleating—But O, on the heather to lie together,With both our hearts a-beating!I 'll put your Basket all safe in a nook,Your shawl I hang up on the willow,And we will sigh in the daisy's eyeAnd kiss on a grass green pillow.
>>25290417Hyperion ruined Keats for me
>>25290430>>25290424>Byron was also famously dismissive of his fellow poet John Keats. In letters to his publisher Murray, Byron variously refers to ‘Jack Keats or Ketch or whatever his names are’ [6] and to Keats’s writing as ‘a sort of mental masturbation’. [7] In a letter from 1821, Byron again expresses dislike of Keats’s poetry, although this time, it is tempered by Keats’s recent death, which was rumoured to be hastened by a bad review: ‘Is it true – what Shelley writes me that poor John Keats died at Rome of the Quarterly Review? I am very sorry for it – though I think he took the wrong line as a poet.’ [8]
>>25290468>Jack Keats or Ketch or whatever his names areGod Byron was such a catty little bitch lol
>>25290480the best is when he called Wordsworth Turdsworth
Standing aloof in giant ignorance, Of thee I hear and of the Cyclades,As one who sits ashore and longs perchance To visit dolphin-coral in deep seas.So thou wast blind;—but then the veil was rent, For Jove uncurtain'd Heaven to let thee live,And Neptune made for thee a spumy tent, And Pan made sing for thee his forest-hive;Aye on the shores of darkness there is light, And precipices show untrodden green,There is a budding morrow in midnight, There is a triple sight in blindness keen;Such seeing hadst thou, as it once befelTo Dian, Queen of Earth, and Heaven, and Hell.
>>25290417Built for mating press.
>>25290433>I love your hills, and I love your dales,lewd!
>>25290417I consider it a crimeThat Keats and Yeats shouldn't rhymeThey are surely two greatsthat hardly anybody hatesNever to be yeeted from time
>>25290417To AutumnSeason of mists and mellow fruiitfulness,Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;Conspiring with him how to load and blessWith fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves runTo bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shellsWith a sweet kernel; to set budding more,And still more, later flowers for the beesUntil they think warm days will never cease,For summer has oer-brimmed their clammy cells
>>25290417It is my intention to subjoin to the London edition of this poem a criticism upon the claims of its lamented object to be classed among the writers of the highest genius who have adorned our age. My known repugnance to the narrow principles of taste on which several of his earlier compositions were modelled proves at least that I am an impartial judge. I consider the fragment of Hyperion as second to nothing that was ever produced by a writer of the same years.John Keats died at Rome of a consumption, in his twenty-fourth year, on the [23rd] of [February] 1821; and was buried in the romantic and lonely cemetery of the protestants in that city, under the pyramid which is the tomb of Cestius, and the massy walls and towers, now mouldering and desolate, which formed the circuit of ancient Rome. The cemetery is an open space among the ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place.The genius of the lamented person to whose memory I have dedicated these unworthy verses was not less delicate and fragile than it was beautiful; and, where canker-worms abound, what wonder if its young flower was blighted in the bud? The savage criticism on his Endymion which appeared in the Quarterly Review produced the most violent effect on his susceptible mind. The agitation thus originated ended in the rupture of a blood-vessel in the lungs; a rapid consumption ensued; and the succeeding acknowledgments, from more candid critics, of the true greatness of his powers, were ineffectual to heal the wound thus wantonly inflicted.It may be well said that these wretched men know not what they do. They scatter their insults and their slanders without heed as to whether the poisoned shaft lights on a heart made callous by many blows, or one, like Keats's, composed of more penetrable stuff. One of their associates is, to my knowledge, a most base and unprincipled calumniator. As to Endymion, was it a poem, whatever might be its defects, to be treated contemptuously by those who had celebrated with various degrees of complacency and panegyric Paris, and Woman and A Syrian Tale, and Mrs. Lefanu, and Mr. Barrett, and Mr. Howard Payne, and a long list of the illustrious obscure? Are these the men who, in their venal good-nature, presumed to draw a parallel between the Rev. Mr. Milman and Lord Byron? What gnat did they strain at here, after having swallowed all those camels? Against what woman taken in adultery dares the foremost of these literary prostitutes to cast his opprobrious stone? Miserable man! you, one of the meanest, have wantonly defaced one of the noblest, specimens of the workmanship of God. Nor shall it be your excuse that, murderer as you are, you have spoken daggers, but used none.
>>25290417>>25291877The circumstances of the closing scene of poor Keats's life were not made known to me until the Elegy was ready for the press. I am given to understand that the wound which his sensitive spirit had received from the criticism of Endymion was exasperated by the bitter sense of unrequited benefits; the poor fellow seems to have been hooted from the stage of life, no less by those on whom he had wasted the promise of his genius than those on whom he had lavished his fortune and his care. He was accompanied to Rome, and attended in his last illness, by Mr. Severn, a young artist of the highest promise, who, I have been informed, 'almost risked his own life, and sacrificed every prospect to unwearied attendance upon his dying friend.' Had I known these circumstances before the completion of my poem, I should have been tempted to add my feeble tribute of applause to the more solid recompense which the virtuous man finds in the recollection of his own motives. Mr. Severn can dispense with a reward from 'such stuff as dreams are made of.' His conduct is a golden augury of the success of his future career -- May the unextinguished spirit of his illustrious friend animate the creations of his pencil, and plead against oblivion for his name!
>>25290417I like Lines on a Mermaid Tavern the most :)
excluding Hopkins and Shakespeare, I've memorized more of his verse than any other poet's
>>25291880>>25291877based Shelleygoing to be in London in a month, stretched for time but wondering if the Keats house is worth seeing
