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Keats

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    • 1. JOHN KEATS
    • 2. JOHN KEATS SOUTH ISLAND SCHOOL IB ENGLISH
    • 3. JOHN KEATS SOUTH ISLAND SCHOOL IB ENGLISH
    • 4. JOHN KEATS SOUTH ISLAND SCHOOL IB ENGLISH
    • 5. Early Years
    • 6. Early Years Born October 31 1795, London
    • 7. Early Years Born October 31 1795, London Relatively poor background - father was a stable keeper
    • 8. Early Years Born October 31 1795, London Relatively poor background - father was a stable keeper Father died (riding accident) when Keats was 8
    • 9. Early Years Born October 31 1795, London Relatively poor background - father was a stable keeper Father died (riding accident) when Keats was 8 Mother died (tuberculosis) when Keats was 14
    • 10. Early Years Born October 31 1795, London Relatively poor background - father was a stable keeper Father died (riding accident) when Keats was 8 Mother died (tuberculosis) when Keats was 14 Attended public school until he was 16 - learned about the classics
    • 11. Early Years Born October 31 1795, London Relatively poor background - father was a stable keeper Father died (riding accident) when Keats was 8 Mother died (tuberculosis) when Keats was 14 Attended public school until he was 16 - learned about the classics Left school at 16, trained as apothecary for 4 years. Then completed 1 year of medical school before dropping out.
    • 12. 1816
    • 13. 1816 Writes first ‘great’ poem - ‘On first looking into Chapman’s Homer’
    • 14. 1816 Writes first ‘great’ poem - ‘On first looking into Chapman’s Homer’ On First Looking into Chapman's Homer Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne; Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He star'd at the Pacific—and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise— Silent, upon a peak in Darien. OCTOBER 1816
    • 15. 1816 Writes first ‘great’ poem - ‘On first looking into Chapman’s Homer’ On First Looking into Chapman's Homer Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne; Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He star'd at the Pacific—and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise— Silent, upon a peak in Darien. OCTOBER 1816
    • 16. Chapman’s Homer - 1816
    • 17. Chapman’s Homer - 1816 On First Looking into Chapman's Homer Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne; Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He star'd at the Pacific—and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise— Silent, upon a peak in Darien. OCTOBER 1816
    • 18. Chapman’s Homer - 1816 On First Looking into Chapman's Homer Archaic language Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne; Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He star'd at the Pacific—and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise— Silent, upon a peak in Darien. OCTOBER 1816
    • 19. Chapman’s Homer - 1816 On First Looking into Chapman's Homer Archaic language Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Hellenism Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne; Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He star'd at the Pacific—and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise— Silent, upon a peak in Darien. OCTOBER 1816
    • 20. Chapman’s Homer - 1816 On First Looking into Chapman's Homer Archaic language Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Hellenism Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne; Tone of passionate enthusiasm Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He star'd at the Pacific—and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise— Silent, upon a peak in Darien. OCTOBER 1816
    • 21. Chapman’s Homer - 1816 On First Looking into Chapman's Homer Archaic language Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Hellenism Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne; Tone of passionate enthusiasm Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies Attempt to convey sense of When a new planet swims into his ken; sublime experience / epiphany Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He star'd at the Pacific—and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise— Silent, upon a peak in Darien. OCTOBER 1816
    • 22. Chapman’s Homer - 1816 On First Looking into Chapman's Homer Archaic language Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Hellenism Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne; Tone of passionate enthusiasm Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies Attempt to convey sense of When a new planet swims into his ken; sublime experience / epiphany Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He star'd at the Pacific—and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise— Confident, conventional use of Silent, upon a peak in Darien. Petrarchan sonnet form OCTOBER 1816
    • 23. 1817
    • 24. 1817 Started to meet other Romantic poets
    • 25. 1817 Started to meet other Romantic poets Meets Percy Shelley
    • 26. 1817 Started to meet other Romantic poets Meets Percy Shelley
    • 27. 1817 Started to meet other Romantic poets Meets Percy Shelley Meets William Wordsworth
    • 28. 1817 Started to meet other Romantic poets Meets Percy Shelley Meets William Wordsworth
    • 29. When I have fears - 1817
    • 30. When I have fears - 1817 When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Before high-piled books, in charactery, Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; And when I feel, fair creature of an hour, That I shall never look upon thee more, Never have relish in the faery power Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
    • 31. When I have fears - 1817 When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Controlled, conventional use of Before high-piled books, in charactery, Shakespearean sonnet form Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; And when I feel, fair creature of an hour, That I shall never look upon thee more, Never have relish in the faery power Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
    • 32. When I have fears - 1817 When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Controlled, conventional use of Before high-piled books, in charactery, Shakespearean sonnet form Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Natural imagery; attempt to find Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace meaning in nature Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; And when I feel, fair creature of an hour, That I shall never look upon thee more, Never have relish in the faery power Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
    • 33. When I have fears - 1817 When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Controlled, conventional use of Before high-piled books, in charactery, Shakespearean sonnet form Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Natural imagery; attempt to find Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace meaning in nature Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; And when I feel, fair creature of an hour, That I shall never look upon thee more, Attempt to convey sense of Never have relish in the faery power sublime experience / epiphany Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
    • 34. When I have fears - 1817 When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Controlled, conventional use of Before high-piled books, in charactery, Shakespearean sonnet form Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Natural imagery; attempt to find Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace meaning in nature Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; And when I feel, fair creature of an hour, That I shall never look upon thee more, Attempt to convey sense of Never have relish in the faery power sublime experience / epiphany Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink. Fascination with permanence / transience
    • 35. 1818
    • 36. 1818 Receives unfavourable reviews - linked with ‘Cockney School’ of poetry
    • 37. 1818 Receives unfavourable reviews - linked with ‘Cockney School’ of poetry Nurses brother Tom who dies of tuberculosis
    • 38. 1818 Receives unfavourable reviews - linked with ‘Cockney School’ of poetry Nurses brother Tom who dies of tuberculosis Meets and falls in love with Fanny Brawne
    • 39. 1818 Receives unfavourable reviews - linked with ‘Cockney School’ of poetry Nurses brother Tom who dies of tuberculosis Meets and falls in love with Fanny Brawne
    • 40. Wrote Bright Star
    • 41. 1819 - The annus mirablis Wrote Bright Star
    • 42. 1819 - The annus mirablis Wrote La Belle Dame sans Merci Wrote Bright Star
    • 43. 1819 - The annus mirablis Wrote La Belle Dame sans Merci Wrote all of the great Odes, including Autumn, Nightingale and Grecian Urn Wrote Bright Star
    • 44. 1819 - The annus mirablis Wrote La Belle Dame sans Merci Wrote all of the great Odes, including Autumn, Nightingale and Grecian Urn Becomes engaged to Fanny Brawne Wrote Bright Star
    • 45. 1819 - The annus mirablis Wrote La Belle Dame sans Merci Wrote all of the great Odes, including Autumn, Nightingale and Grecian Urn Becomes engaged to Fanny Brawne Wrote Bright Star Was painted by Joseph Severn
    • 46. 1819 - The annus mirablis Wrote La Belle Dame sans Merci Wrote all of the great Odes, including Autumn, Nightingale and Grecian Urn Becomes engaged to Fanny Brawne Wrote Bright Star Was painted by Joseph Severn
    • 47. Bright Star - February 1819
    • 48. Bright Star - February 1819 BRIGHT STAR, WOULD I WERE STEDFAST By John Keats Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--- Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--- No---yet still stedfast, still unchangeable, Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever---or else swoon in death. 1819
    • 49. Bright Star - February 1819 BRIGHT STAR, WOULD I WERE STEDFAST By John Keats Long thought to have been Keats’ last Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--- poem Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--- No---yet still stedfast, still unchangeable, Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever---or else swoon in death. 1819
    • 50. Bright Star - February 1819 BRIGHT STAR, WOULD I WERE STEDFAST By John Keats Long thought to have been Keats’ last Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--- poem Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, Now thought to have The moving waters at their priestlike task been written Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask just after engagement Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--- to Fanny Brawne No---yet still stedfast, still unchangeable, Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever---or else swoon in death. 1819
    • 51. Bright Star - February 1819 BRIGHT STAR, WOULD I WERE STEDFAST By John Keats Long thought to have been Keats’ last Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--- poem Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, Now thought to have The moving waters at their priestlike task been written Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask just after engagement Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--- to Fanny Brawne No---yet still stedfast, still unchangeable, Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Note more adventurous use of Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, Shakespearean sonnet - less formal And so live ever---or else swoon in death. adherence to line groupings, 1819 misplaced volta.
    • 52. La Belle Dame Sans Merci - 21 April 1819
    • 53. La Belle Dame Sans Merci - 21 April 1819 La Belle Dame Sans Merci, 1819 Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, Alone and palely loitering; The sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing. Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, So haggard and so woe-begone? The squirrel's granary is full, And the harvest's done. I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew; And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too. I met a lady in the meads Full beautiful, a faery's child; Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild.
    • 54. La Belle Dame Sans Merci - 21 April 1819 La Belle Dame Sans Merci, 1819 Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, Alone and palely loitering; The sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing. I set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long; Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, For sideways would she lean, and sing So haggard and so woe-begone? A faery's song. The squirrel's granary is full, And the harvest's done. I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; I see a lily on thy brow, She look'd at me as she did love, With anguish moist and fever dew; And made sweet moan. And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too. She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild, and manna dew; I met a lady in the meads And sure in language strange she said, Full beautiful, a faery's child; I love thee true. Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild. She took me to her elfin grot, And there she gaz'd and sighed deep, And there I shut her wild sad eyes-- So kiss'd to sleep.
    • 55. La Belle Dame Sans Merci - 21 April 1819 La Belle Dame Sans Merci, 1819 Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, Alone and palely loitering; The sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing. I set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long; Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, For sideways would she lean, and sing And there we slumber'd on the moss, So haggard and so woe-begone? A faery's song. And there I dream'd, ah woe betide, The squirrel's granary is full, The latest dream I ever dream'd And the harvest's done. I made a garland for her head, On the cold hill side. And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; I see a lily on thy brow, She look'd at me as she did love, I saw pale kings, and princes too, With anguish moist and fever dew; And made sweet moan. Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; And on thy cheek a fading rose Who cry'd--"La belle Dame sans merci Fast withereth too. She found me roots of relish sweet, Hath thee in thrall!" And honey wild, and manna dew; I met a lady in the meads And sure in language strange she said, I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam Full beautiful, a faery's child; I love thee true. With horrid warning gaped wide, Her hair was long, her foot was light, And I awoke, and found me here And her eyes were wild. She took me to her elfin grot, On the cold hill side. And there she gaz'd and sighed deep, And there I shut her wild sad eyes-- And this is why I sojourn here So kiss'd to sleep. Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing.
    • 56. Ode to a Nightingale - May 1819
    • 57. Ode to a Nightingale - May 1819 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. 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:
    • 58. Ode to a Nightingale - May 1819 My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, What thou among the leaves hast never known, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains The weariness, the fever, and the fret One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, But being too happy in thine happiness,-- Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees Where but to think is to be full of sorrow In some melodious plot And leaden-eyed despairs, Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Singest of summer in full-throated ease. Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, Tasting of Flora and the country green, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth! Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: O for a beaker full of the warm South, Already with thee! tender is the night, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays; And purple-stained mouth; But here there is no light, That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown And with thee fade away into the forest dim: Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.
    • 59. Ode to a Nightingale - May 1819
    • 60. Ode to a Nightingale - May 1819 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. 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.
    • 61. Ode to a Nightingale - May 1819 I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, No hungry generations tread thee down; But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet The voice I hear this passing night was heard Wherewith the seasonable month endows In ancient days by emperor and clown: The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; Perhaps the self-same song that found a path White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves; She stood in tears amid the alien corn; And mid-May's eldest child, The same that oft-times hath The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. Darkling I listen; and, for many a time Forlorn! the very word is like a bell I have been half in love with easeful Death, To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well To take into the air my quiet breath; As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf. Now more than ever seems it rich to die, Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades To cease upon the midnight with no pain, Past the near meadows, over the still stream, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In such an ecstasy! In the next valley-glades: Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain-- Was it a vision, or a waking dream? To thy high requiem become a sod. Fled is that music:--Do I wake or sleep?
    • 62. Ode on a Grecian Urn - May 1819
    • 63. Ode on a Grecian Urn - May 1819 Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thou express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fring'd legend haunt about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal - yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
    • 64. Ode on a Grecian Urn - May 1819 Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thou express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fring'd legend haunt about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal - yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
    • 65. Ode on a Grecian Urn - May 1819 Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Your leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu; Sylvan historian, who canst thou express And, happy melodist, unwearied, A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: For ever piping songs for ever new; What leaf-fring'd legend haunt about thy shape More happy love! more happy, happy love! Of deities or mortals, or of both, For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? For ever panting, and for ever young; What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? All breathing human passion far above, What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd, What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Who are these coming to the sacrifice? Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave What little town by river or sea shore, Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? Though winning near the goal - yet, do not grieve; And, little town, thy streets for evermore She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, Will silent be; and not a soul to tell For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
    • 66. Ode on a Grecian Urn - May 1819 Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Your leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu; Sylvan historian, who canst thou express And, happy melodist, unwearied, A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: For ever piping songs for ever new; What leaf-fring'd legend haunt about thy shape More happy love! more happy, happy love! Of deities or mortals, or of both, For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? For ever panting, and for ever young; What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? All breathing human passion far above, What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd, What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Who are these coming to the sacrifice? Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave What little town by river or sea shore, Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? Though winning near the goal - yet, do not grieve; And, little town, thy streets for evermore She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, Will silent be; and not a soul to tell For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
    • 67. Ode on a Grecian Urn - May 1819 Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Your leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu; Of marble men and maidens overwrought, Sylvan historian, who canst thou express And, happy melodist, unwearied, With forest branches and the trodden weed; A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: For ever piping songs for ever new; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought What leaf-fring'd legend haunt about thy shape More happy love! more happy, happy love! As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! Of deities or mortals, or of both, For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, When old age shall this generation waste, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? For ever panting, and for ever young; Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? All breathing human passion far above, Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty," - that is all What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Who are these coming to the sacrifice? Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave What little town by river or sea shore, Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? Though winning near the goal - yet, do not grieve; And, little town, thy streets for evermore She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, Will silent be; and not a soul to tell For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
    • 68. To Autumn -September 1819 SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Conspiring with him how to load and bless Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers: With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep And still more, later flowers for the bees, Steady thy laden head across a brook; Until they think warm days will never cease, Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells. Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours. Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,— While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
    • 69. 1820
    • 70. 1820 Suffered a major haemorrhage
    • 71. 1820 Suffered a major haemorrhage Went to Italy in order to improve health
    • 72. 1821
    • 73. 1821 February 23 - dies of tuberculosis
    • 74. 1821 February 23 - dies of tuberculosis Buried in Rome
    • 75. 1821 February 23 - dies of tuberculosis Buried in Rome
    • 76. 1821 February 23 - dies of tuberculosis Buried in Rome Epitaph - Here lies one whose name was writ in water
    • 77. Romanticism
    • 78. Romanticism The usual definition...
    • 79. Romanticism The usual definition... Started with William Blake, Songs of Innocence and Experience in 1789 / 1794 (or Wordsworth and Coleridge, Lyrical Ballads, 1798)
    • 80. Romanticism The usual definition... Started with William Blake, Songs of Innocence and Experience in 1789 / 1794 (or Wordsworth and Coleridge, Lyrical Ballads, 1798) The ‘First Generation’ of Romantic poets - Blake, Wordsworth, Coleridge
    • 81. Romanticism The usual definition... Started with William Blake, Songs of Innocence and Experience in 1789 / 1794 (or Wordsworth and Coleridge, Lyrical Ballads, 1798) The ‘First Generation’ of Romantic poets - Blake, Wordsworth, Coleridge Conventionally seen as ‘revolutionaries’ - associated with spirit of democracy embodied by French revolution of 1789
    • 82. Romanticism The usual definition... Started with William Blake, Songs of Innocence and Experience in 1789 / 1794 (or Wordsworth and Coleridge, Lyrical Ballads, 1798) The ‘First Generation’ of Romantic poets - Blake, Wordsworth, Coleridge Conventionally seen as ‘revolutionaries’ - associated with spirit of democracy embodied by French revolution of 1789 Poetry is powerfully informed by natural imagery and subject matter - simple language, traditional forms
    • 83. Wordsworth’s Preface to Lyrical Ballads (1800)
    • 84. Wordsworth’s Preface to Lyrical Ballads (1800)
    • 85. Wordsworth’s Preface to Lyrical Ballads (1800) ...all good poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings...
    • 86. Wordsworth’s Preface to Lyrical Ballads (1800) ...all good poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings... Humble and rustic life was generally chosen, because, in that condition, the passions of the heart find a better soil in which they can attain their maturity, are less under restraint, and speak a plainer and more emphatic language...
    • 87. Wordsworth’s Preface to Lyrical Ballads (1800) ...all good poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings... Humble and rustic life was generally chosen, because, in that condition, the passions of the heart find a better soil in which they can attain their maturity, are less under restraint, and speak a plainer and more emphatic language... To what extent does this apply to Keats?
    • 88. Romanticism
    • 89. Romanticism Second generation of Romantic poets
    • 90. Romanticism Second generation of Romantic poets Byron, Shelley, Keats
    • 91. Romanticism Second generation of Romantic poets Byron, Shelley, Keats These three are very different!
    • 92. Romanticism Second generation of Romantic poets Byron, Shelley, Keats These three are very different! Marilyn Butler - better to talk about Romanticisms than Romanticism!
    • 93. So, what to look for in Romantic writing? The sublime Focus on emotional response, often to natural stimulus Use of archaic or traditional forms and language Interest in myth and legend Preference, inspired by Rousseau, for natural rather than artificial or ‘civilised’ states Hegelian search for meaning in nature; desire to place man in a natural context
    • 94. So, what to look for in Romantic writing?
    • 95. So, what to look for in Romantic writing? Focus on the individual, not on society
    • 96. So, what to look for in Romantic writing? Writing which is EXPRESSIVE rather than DISCURSIVE; MH Abrams’ LAMP, not his MIRROR Focus on the individual, not on society
    • 97. So, what to look for in Romantic writing? Writing which is EXPRESSIVE rather than DISCURSIVE; MH Abrams’ LAMP, not his MIRROR Focus on the individual, not on society Fascination with emotion; heightened states, sometimes artificially enhanced...
    • 98. Augustans vs Romantics
    • 99. Augustans vs Romantics Dr Johnson - ‘...the business of the poet is the examination not of the individual but of the species...’
    • 100. Augustans vs Romantics Dr Johnson - ‘...the business of the poet is the examination not of the individual but of the species...’
    • 101. Augustans vs Romantics Dr Johnson - ‘...the business of the poet is the examination not of the individual but of the species...’ William Blake - ‘To particularise is the Alone distinction of Merit...’
    • 102. Augustans vs Romantics Dr Johnson - ‘...the business of the poet is the examination not of the individual but of the species...’ William Blake - ‘To particularise is the Alone distinction of Merit...’

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