Page 1 of 1

A poem for Keats

PostPosted: Thu Jan 20, 2005 7:03 am
by soumya
Dry Wind

Cold was he and hungry inside
Tried to change the habitual tide.
Defeated in love with his dire health
Wrote in verses, his natural wealth.
He saw the marbles and the paintings
In the spell wrote for many evenings,
The myths of the distant land, by the sea
Feeling his poems is dedicated to me.
Beauty is in the art and art is beauty
The skill of the artisan is the beauty.
Resting in peace under the stone
I wish to visit the Italian city of Rome.
Dry leaves and the west wind of autumn
Steer me inside the sea to its bottom.
Cremate me on the sand by the sea
The breeze will drive my words with me.
To the land of the Urn and the Marble
My burnt heart will answer its grumble.
Grey smoke; notice the endless sorrow
My ashes will be washed by tomorrow.
Mixed with the salty water of the sea
I’ll be more close to thy soul and thee.
Indeed a very happy birthday to me.

PostPosted: Thu Jan 20, 2005 3:09 pm
by Despondence
Hey Soumya, welcome to the forum. Thanks for posting that excellent essay (admit I haven't read all of it yet, I'm still at work...). I am also enticed by your essay on Wordsworth - will have to read them both thoroughly when I get off work today. Cheers.

PostPosted: Thu Jan 20, 2005 11:00 pm
by Saturn
May I second that.

Great to see more new blood - boy is this place dead :? - well we only have ourselves to blame :shock:

PostPosted: Fri Jan 21, 2005 6:22 am
by soumya
Despondence wrote:Hey Soumya, welcome to the forum. Thanks for posting that excellent essay (admit I haven't read all of it yet, I'm still at work...). I am also enticed by your essay on Wordsworth - will have to read them both thoroughly when I get off work today. Cheers.


thank you sir for the encouragement, it is inspiring.

Regards

LO and Behold Great Poesie

PostPosted: Sat Jan 22, 2005 1:30 am
by MonroeDoctrine
A Short One Dedicated To Keats

Words of non-empirical evidence
that indite upon the stone tablet whence
only few poets hold authority
to chizel words; 'Tis Keats, part of a small minority.

PostPosted: Sun Jan 23, 2005 9:52 pm
by jfk
Here is one I posted ages ago, but since we are posting poems to
Keats, here it is again......

The beautiful figure of a hurried hand,
scribbling notes on tide-washed sand.
Barely perceiving the wonder that flows,
from ripened brain in teeming blows.

His genius fresh, his time near come,
The man, the flesh, did to death succumb.
Our terrible loss was heaven’s joy
The beauty he left: Let no man destroy...