Status
Available
Genres
Publication
London : Brockhampton Press, c1996.
Description
A collection of poems and excerpts from Keats works, with a biographical introduction and a chronology.
User reviews
LibraryThing member gbill
A nice enough little collection of poems from John Keats, and I loved the inclusion of 26 illustrations, almost all of which are 19th century paintings that fit the lyrical mood of the poetry. The summary of Keats’ tragic life and epitaph (“Here lies one whose name was writ on water”) in the
I loved this one, which captures solitude, nature, and connection with a kindred spirit:
O SOLITUDE! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,—
Nature’s observatory—whence the dell,
Its flowery slopes, its river’s crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
’Mongst boughs pavillion’d, where the deer’s swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.
But though I’ll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refin’d,
Is my soul’s pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.
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introduction is poignant. He was a romantic at heart, and his great sensitivity to art and timelessness come out in his poems. “Ode to a Grecian Urn”, “Ode to a Nightingale”, and “Ode” are all here, and fantastic. It was a bit odd for the entirety of “Isabella, or, The Pot of Basil” to be as well, since it took a big fraction of the book. On the other hand, extracting portions of “The Eve of St. Agnes” was unwise, and it suffered in the dissection. It’s not a bad introduction to Keats, but it seems a slightly larger volume would have done him more justice.I loved this one, which captures solitude, nature, and connection with a kindred spirit:
O SOLITUDE! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,—
Nature’s observatory—whence the dell,
Its flowery slopes, its river’s crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
’Mongst boughs pavillion’d, where the deer’s swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.
But though I’ll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refin’d,
Is my soul’s pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.
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