John Keats
John keats
Bright star
• 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 to death. • 灿烂、轻盈，覆盖着洼地和 高山—— 呵，不，——我只愿坚 定不移地 以头枕在爱人酥软的胸 脯上， 永远感到它舒缓地降落、 升起； 而醒来，心里充满甜蜜 的激荡， 不断，不断听着她细腻 的呼吸， 就这样活着，——或昏 迷地死去。 查良铮 译
Major Literary Works
• In John Keats’ short writing career of six or seven years, he produced a variety of kinds of works, including epic, lyric and narrative poems. • Except his first poem, Lines in Imitation of Spenser (1814) and his first book, Poems, published in 1817, his major works can be divided into the five long poems and the short ones.
John Keats英文简介
John KeatsJohn Keats (1795-1821), major English poet, despite his early death from tuberculosis at the age of 25. Keats’s poetry describes the beauty of the natural world and art as the vehicle for his poetic imagination. His skill with poetic imagery and sound reproduces this sensuous experience for his reader. Keats’s poetry evolves over his brief career from this love of nature and art into a deep compassion for humanity. He gave voice to the spirit of Romanticism in literature when he wrote, “I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart’s affections, and the truth of imagination.” Twentieth-century poet T. S. Eliot judged Keats's letters to be 'the most notable and the most important ever written by any English Poet,” for their acute reflection s on poetry, poets, and the imagination.II Early LifeKeats was born in north London, England. He was the eldest son of Thomas Keats, who worked at a livery stable, and Frances (Jennings) Keats. The couple had three other sons, one of whom died in infancy, and a daughter. Thomas Keats died in 1804, as a result of a riding accident. Frances Keats died in 1810 of tuberculosis, the disease that also took the lives of her three sons.From 1803 to 1811 Keats attended school. Toward the end of his schooling, he began to read widely and even undertook a prose translation of the Aeneid from the Latin. After he left school at the age of 16, Keats was apprenticed to a surgeon for four years. During this time his interest in poetry grew. He wrote his first poems in 1814 and passed his medical and druggist examinations in 1816.III Life as a PoetIn May 1816 Keats published his first poem, the sonnet 'O Solitude,' marking the beginning of his poetic career. In writing a sonnet, a 14-line poem with a strict rhyme scheme, Keats sought to take his place in the tradition established by great classical, European, and British epic poets. The speaker of this poem first expresses hope that, if he is to be alone, it will be in “Nature’s Observatory”; he then imagines the “highest bliss” to be writing poetry in nature rather than simply observing nature. In another sonnet published the same year, 'On First Looking into Chapman's Homer,' Keats compares reading translations of poetry to awe-inspiring experiences such as an astronomer discovering a new planet or explorers first seeing the Pacific Ocean. In “Sleep and Poetry,” a longer poem from 1816, Keats articulates the purpose of poetry as he sees it: “To soothe the cares, and lift the thoughts of man.” Within a year o f his first publications Keats had abandoned medicine, turned exclusively to writing poetry, and entered the mainstream of contemporary English poets. By the end of 1816 he had met poet and journalist Leigh Hunt, editor of the literary magazine that published his poems. He had also met the leading romantic poet, Percy Bysshe Shelley.“Endymion,” written between April and November 1817 and published the following year, is thought to be Keats's richest although most unpolished poem. In the poem, the mortal hero Endymion's quest for the goddess Cynthia serves as a metaphor for imaginative longing—the poet’s quest for a muse, or divine inspiration.Following “Endymion,” Keats struggled with his assumptions about the power of poetry and philosophy to affect the suffering he saw in life. In June of 1818, Keats went on a physically demanding walking tour of England’s Lake District and Scotland, perhaps in search of inspiration for an epic poem. His journey was cut short by the illness of his brother Tom. Keats returned home and nursed his brother through the final stages of tuberculosis. He threw himself into writing the epic “Hyperion,” he wrote to a friend, to ease himself of Tom’s “countenance, his voice and feebleness.'An epic is a long narrative poem about a worthy hero, written in elevated language; this was the principal form used by great poets before Keats. The subject of “Hyperion” is the fall of the primeval Greek gods, who are dethroned by the Olympians, a newer order of gods led by Apollo. Keats used this myth to represent history as the story of how grief and misery teach humanity compassion. The poem ends with the transformation of Apollo into the god of poetry, but Keats left the poem unfinished. His abandonment of the poem suggests that Keats was ready to return to a more personal theme: the growth of a poet's mind. Keats later described the poem as showing 'false beauty proceeding from art' rather than 'the true voice of feeling.' Tom’s death in December 1818 may have freed Keats from the need t o finish “Hyperion.”Two other notable developments took place in Keats’s life in the latter part of 1818. First, “Endymion,” published in April, received negative reviews by the leading literary magazines. Second, Keats fell in love with spirited, 18-year-old Fanny Brawne. Keats's passion for Fanny Brawne is perhaps evoked in 'The Eve of St. Agnes,' written in 1819 and published in 1820. In this narrative poem, a young man follows an elaborate plan to woo his love and wins her heart.Keats’s great crea tive outpouring came in April and May of 1819, when he composed a group of five odes. The loose formal requirements of the ode—a regular metrical pattern and a shift in perspective from stanza to stanza—allowed Keats to follow his mind’s associations. Lite rary critics rank these works among the greatest short poems in the English language. Each ode begins with the speaker focusing on something—a nightingale, an urn, the goddess Psyche, the mood of melancholy, the season of autumn—and arrives at his greater insight into what he values.In “Ode to a Nightingale,” the nightingale’s song symbolizes the beauty of nature and art. Keats was fascinated by the difference between life and art: Human beings die, but the art they make lives on. The speaker in the poem tries repeatedly to use his imagination to go with the bird’s song, but each time he fails to completely forget himself. In the sixth stanza he suddenly remembers what death means, and the thought of it frightens him back to earth and his own humanity.In 'Ode on a Grecian Urn,' the bride and bridegroom painted on the Grecian urn do not die. Theirlove can never fade, but neither can they kiss and embrace. At the end of the poem, the speaker sees the world of art as cold rather than inviting.The last two odes, 'Ode on Melancholy' and 'To Autumn,” show a turn in Keats’s ideas about life and art. He celebrates “breathing human passion” as more beautiful than either art or nature.Keats never lived to write the poetry of 'the agonies, the strife of human hearts' to which he aspired. Some scholars suggest that his revision of “Hyperion,” close to the end of his life, measures what he learned about poetry. In the revision, 'The Fall of Hyperion: A Dream,' Keats boldly makes the earlier poem into the story of his own quest as poet. In a dream, the poem’s speaker must pass through death to enter a temple that receives only those who cannot forget the miseries of the world. Presiding over the shrine is Moneta, a prophetess whose face embodies many of the oppos ites that had long haunted Keats’s imagination—death and immortality, stasis and change, humankind’s goodness and darkness. The knowledge Moneta gives him defines Keats’s new mission and burden as a poet.After September 1819, Keats produced little poetry. His money troubles, always pressing, became severe. Keats and Fanny Brawne became engaged, but with little prospect of marriage. In February 1820, Keats had a severe hemorrhage and coughed up blood, beginning a year that he called his “posthumous existence.” He did manage to prepare a third volume of poems for the press, Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes, and Other Poems.In September 1820, Keats sailed to Italy, accompanied by a close friend. The last months of his life there were haunted by the prospect of death and the memory of Fanny Brawne.。
英美文学欣赏：JohnKeats
英美文学欣赏：John Keats英美文学欣赏：John KeatsJohn Keats (1795-1821)Born in London in 1795 in a lower-middle-class family; father the manager of a livery stables. Father died when he was 9 and his mother died of TB 6 years later. At 16 he left school and apprenticed to a surgeon. After four years apprenticeship he registered as a student at Guy’s Hospital. He began writing poetry in 1814, his first publication , a sonnet “ O Solitude” appeared in 1816. With the encouragement of his friend, he decided to abandon medicine and pursue a literary career. His first collection Poems appeared in 1817, followed by Endymion in 1818. In the summer of 1818 a walking tour with Charles Brown. Tom dying , nursed him until he died at the end of that year. During this time he met Fanny Brawne, engaged, but his plan to marry Fanny was thwarted by financial problem and illness. In the autumn of 1819 his health worsened. The last of the three volumes published during his lifetime, Lamia, Isabella, the Eve of St Agnes and Other Poems appeared in July of !820. In sep of the year went Italy. Died at 25, 23 Feb 1821 in Rome.Literary career:Very short, about 4 years, yet produced a variety of works, including epic, lyric, and narrative poems. His major achievement and also his most famous poems are a sequence of odes written around 1820.Major themes:Transience of beauty; the short-lived nature of beauty and happinessPleasure and pain: the relationship between them and thevalue of sufferingThe value of enduring art and the role of poetMyth and the supernaturalLove, his attitude to womenKeats learned the art of poetry mainly from the poets of the English Renaissance, such as Spenser and Shakespeare, from Milton and Dante. The artistic aim in his poetry is always to create a beautiful world of imagination as opposed to the sordid reality of his day. He sought to express beauty in all his poems. His leading principle is: “ Beauty is truth, truth beauty”. He expresses the delight which comes not only through the eye and earbut through the senses of touch, taste and smell. His poetry is distinguished by sensuousness and the perfection of form. Known as a sensuous poet.On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer.The first important poem of Keats, written in 1816 at 21. Written in the early morning following an evening spent with Clark; together they had read passages from the Iliad by Homer, translated by Chapman.1. realms of gold: In the old days, America was known as the land of gold where many adventurers went to make their fortune. Here “ the realms of gold” is a metaphor , referring to the realms of great books, chiefly of poetry.2. Western islands—imaginary islands in the western ocean, supposed by ancient Greeks to be very happy and pleasant places. Here refer to realms of great poetry.3. Deep-browed—with heavy and thick eyebrows, suggesting thoughtful or meditative.4. Pure serene—the clear, fresh, vigorous style of Homer.5. watcher of sky: Keats touches our own experience when hedescribes the awe and excitement of a sky watcher at the sight ofa new star;6. Cortez—a Spanish conqueror of Mexico(1485-1554). He cofused Cortez with Vasco Balboa , the Spanish navigator who discovered the Pacific at Darien in 1513.Bolboa and his followers climbed to the top of a hill in Darien and were amazed by the scene before their eyes: a vast ocean lay before them.。
ctf-约翰·格斯瓦斯的诗歌
《CTF-约翰·格斯瓦斯的诗歌》一、引言在计算机安全领域，CTF（Capture The Flag）是一种常见的竞赛形式，旨在考察参与者的网络安全技能和解决问题的能力。
然而，在今天的文章中，我们并非要讨论这种类型的竞赛，而是要深入探讨一位诗人的作品-约翰·格斯瓦斯的诗歌。
作为一位充满活力和创造力的诗人，格斯瓦斯的诗歌作品以其深刻的思想和精湛的艺术表现，深受世人喜爱。
二、浅谈约翰·格斯瓦斯约翰·格斯瓦斯（John Keats，1795年-1821年）是英国浪漫主义诗人中的一员，他的诗歌作品以其华丽、飘逸的文学风格，以及对自然、美、逝去等主题的深刻探讨而著称。
在其短暂的生命中，格斯瓦斯创作了许多令人赞叹的作品，其中包括《卓别林赞》、《夜莺颂》、《阳光颂》等。
三、深入解读1. 《卓别林赞》在格斯瓦斯的诗歌作品中，《卓别林赞》被视为其代表作之一。
这首诗歌以对卓别林的颂扬和赞美为主题，表达了对于美和艺术的追求。
作者通过描绘卓别林的形象和作品，展现了对人类创造力和想象力的无限崇敬和赞美。
2. 《夜莺颂》《夜莺颂》是格斯瓦斯的另一首经典作品，这首诗歌以夜莺为主题，通过夜莺的歌声，表达了对自然美和自由的向往。
诗中充满了对生命的热情和对美的追求，展现了浪漫主义诗人对于内心世界的探索和追求。
3. 《阳光颂》在《阳光颂》中，格斯瓦斯以阳光为象征，赞美了阳光对于人类生活的意义和作用。
作者通过对阳光的描绘，表达了对光明、希望和生命的追求，展现了对于正能量和积极生活态度的向往。
四、总结与回顾通过对约翰·格斯瓦斯诗歌作品的深入解读，我们可以感受到他对于美和艺术的热爱，以及对自然、生命和美好的向往。
他的诗歌作品充满了对人类创造力和生命力的赞美，以及对美好事物的追求和追寻。
正如他所言：“美是真理的至高表现形式”，格斯瓦斯的诗歌作品也正是在不断追求美和真理的道路上不断前行。
五、个人观点对于我个人来说，格斯瓦斯的诗歌作品深深地触动了我的内心世界，让我对生命、美和艺术有了全新的理解和感悟。
济慈生平简介(英文版)及部分诗作
John Keats (1795-1821), renowned poet of the English Romantic Movement, wrote some of the greatest English language poems including "La Belle Dame Sans Merci", "Ode To A Nightingale", and "Ode On a Grecian Urn";O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with bredeOf marble men and maidens overwrought,With forest branches and the trodden weed;Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thoughtAs doth eternity: Cold pastoral!When old age shall this generation waste,Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woeThan ours, a friend to man, to whom thou sayst,"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,--that is allYe know on earth, and all ye need to know."、John Keats was born on 31 October 1795 in Moorgate, London, England, the first child born to Frances Jennings (b.1775-d.1810) and Thomas Keats (d.1804), an employee of a livery stable. He had three siblings: George (1797-1841), Thomas (1799-1818), and Frances Mary "Fanny" (1803-1889). After leaving school in Enfield, Keats went on to apprentice with Dr. Hammond, a surgeon in Edmonton. After his father died in a riding accident, and his mother died of tuberculosis, John and his brothers moved to Hampstead. It was here that Keats met Charles Armitage Brown (1787-1842) who would become a great friend. Remembering his first meeting with him, Brown writes "His full fine eyes were lustrously intellectual, and beaming (at that time!)". Much grieved by his death, Brown worked for many years on his memoir and biography, Life of John Keats (1841). In it Brown claims that it was not until Keats read Edmund Spencer's Faery Queen that he realised his own gift for the poetic. Keats was an avid student in the fields of medicine and natural history, but he then turned his attentions to the literary works of such authors as William Shakespeare and Geoffrey Chaucer.Keats had his poems published in the magazines of the day at the encouragement of many including James Henry Leigh Hunt Esq. (1784-1859), editor of the Examiner and to whom Keats dedicated his first collection Poems (1817). It includes "To My Brother George", "O Solitude! If I Must With Thee Dwell", and "Happy is England! I Could Be Content". Upon its appearance a series of personal attacks directed at Keats ensued in the pages of Blackwood's Magazine. Despite the controversy surrounding his life, Keats's literary merit prevailed. That sameto stay with him and his family in Italy, he declined. When Shelley's body was washed ashore after drowning, a volume of Keats's poetry was found in his pocket.Having worked on it for many months, Keats finished his epic poem comprising four books, Endymion: A Poetic Romance--"A thing of beauty is a joy for ever"--in 1818. That summer he travelled to the Lake District of England and on to Ireland and Scotland on a walking tour with Brown. They visited the grave of Robert Burns and reminisced upon John Milton's poetry. While he was not aware of the seriousness of it, Keats was suffering from the initial stages of the deadly infectious disease tuberculosis. He cut his trip short and upon return to Hampstead immediately tended to his brother Tom who was then in the last stages of the disease. After Tom's death in December of 1818, Keats lived with Brown.Life of John Keats.Around this time Keats met, fell in love with, and became engaged to eighteen year old Frances "Fanny" Brawne (1800-1865). He wrote one of his more famous sonnets to her titled "Bright Star, would I were steadfast as thou art". While their relationship inspired much spiritual development for Keats, it also proved to be tempestuous, filled with the highs and lows from jealousy and infatuation of first love. Brown was not impressed and tried to provide some emotional stability to Keats. Many for a time were convinced that Fanny was the cause of his illness, or, used that as an excuse to try to keep her away from him. For a while even Keats entertained the possibility that he was merely suffering physical manifestations of emotional anxieties--but after suffering a hemorrhage he gave Fanny permission to break their engagement. She would hear nothing of it and by her word provided much comfort to Keats in his last days that she was ultimately loyal to him.Although 1819 proved to be his most prolific year of writing, Keats was also in dire financial straits. His brother George had borrowed money he could ill-afford to part with. His earning Fanny's mother's approval to marrydepended on his earning as a writer and he started plans with his publisher John Taylor (1781-1864) for his next volume of poems. At the beginning of 1820 Keats started to show more pronounced signs of the deadly tuberculosis that had killed his mother and brother. After a lung hemorrhage, Keats calmly accepted his fate, and he enjoyed several weeks of respite under Brown's watchful eye. As was common belief at the time that bleeding a patient was beneficial to healing, Keats was bled and given opium to relieve his anxiety and pain. He was at times put on a starvation diet, then at other times prescribed to eat meat and drink red wine to gain strength. Despite these ill-advised good-intentions, and suffering increasing weakness and fever, Keats was able to emerge from his fugue and organise the publication of his next volume of poetry.Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes, and Other Poems (1820) includes some of his best-known and oft-quoted works: "Hyperion", "To Autumn", and "Ode To A Nightingale". "Nightingale" evokes all the pain and suffering that Keats experienced during his short life-time: the death of his mother; the physical anguish he saw as a young apprentice tending to the sick and dying at St. Guy's Hospital; the death of his brother; and ultimately his own physical and spiritual suffering in love and illness. Keats lived to see positive reviews of Lamia, even in Blackwood's magazine. But the positivity was not to last long; Brown left for Scotland and the ailing Keats lived with Hunt for a time. But it was unbearable to him and only exacerbated his condition--he was unable to see Fanny, so, when he showed up at the Brawne's residence in much emotional agitation, sick, and feverish, they could not refuse him. He enjoyed a month with them, blissfully under the constant care of his beloved Fanny. Possibly bolstered by his finally having unrestricted time with her, and able to imagine a happy future with her, Keats considered his last hope of recovery of a rest cure in the warm climes of Italy. As a parting gift Fanny gave him a piece of marble which she had often clasped to cool her hand. In September of 1820 Keats sailed to Rome with friend and painter Joseph Severn (1793-1879, who was unaware of his circumstances with Fanny and the gravity of his health.Keats put on a bold front but it soon became apparent to Severn that he was terminally ill. They stayed in rooms on the Piazza Navona near the Spanish Steps, and enjoyed the lively sights and sounds of the people and culture, but Keats soon fell into a deep depression. When his attending doctor James Clark (1788-1870) finally voiced aloud the grim prognosis, Keats's medical background came to the fore and he longed to end his life and avoid the humiliating physical and mental torments of tuberculosis. By early 1821 he was confined to bed, Severn a devoted nurse. Keats had resolved not to write to Fanny and would not read a letter from her for fear of the pain it would cause him, although he constantly clasped her marble. During bouts of coughing, fever, nightmares, Keats also tried to cheer his friend, who held him till the end.John Keats died on 23 February 1821 in Rome, Italy, and now rests in the Protestant Cemetery in Rome, by the pyramid of Caius Cestius, near his friend Shelley. His epitaph reads "Here lies one whose name was writ in water", inspired by the line "all your better deeds, Shall be in water writ" from Francis Beaumont (1584-1616) and John Fletcher's (1579-1625) five act play Philaster or: Love Lies A-bleeding. Just a year later, Shelley was buried in the same cemetery, not long after he had written "Adonais" (1821) in tribute to his friend;I weep for Adonais--he is dead!O, weep for Adonais! though our tearsThaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!And thou, sad Hour, selected from all yearsTo mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers,And teach them thine own sorrow, say: "With meDied Adonais; till the Future daresForget the Past, his fate and fame shall beAn echo and a light unto eternity!"Fanny Brawne married in 1833 and died at the age of sixty-five. English poet and friend of Brown's, Richard Monckton Milnes (1809-1885) wrote Life, Letters, and Literary Remains of John Keats (1848). During his lifetime and since, John Keats inspired numerous other authors, poets, and artists, and remains one of the most widely read and studied 19th century poets.Biography written by C. D. Merriman for Jalic Inc. Copyright Jalic Inc. 2007. All Rights Reserved.Works：长篇叙事诗Endymion《恩底弥翁》;The Eve of St.Agnes《圣艾格尼丝节前夜》;Lamia《拉米亚》;（颂诗）Ode to Psyche《普赛克颂》;《希腊古瓮颂》Sleep and Poetry《睡与诗》"As I lay in my bed slepe full unmete Was unto me, but why that I ne might Rest I ne wist, for there n'as erthly wight[As I suppose] had more of hertis ese Than I, for I n'ad sicknesse nor disese."CHAUCER.What is more gentle than a wind in summer? What is more soothing than the pretty hummer That stays one moment in an open flower,And buzzes cheerily from bower to bower?What is more tranquil than a musk-rose blowing In a green island, far from all men's knowing? More healthful than the leafiness of dales?More secret than a nest of nightingales?More serene than Cordelia's countenance?More full of visions than a high romance? What, but thee Sleep? Soft closer of our eyes! Low murmurer of tender lullabies!Light hoverer around our happy pillows! Wreather of poppy buds, and weeping willows! Silent entangler of a beauty's tresses!Most happy listener! when the morning blesses Thee for enlivening all the cheerful eyesThat glance so brightly at the new sun-rise. But what is higher beyond thought than thee? Fresher than berries of a mountain tree?More strange, more beautiful, more smooth, more regal,Than wings of swans, than doves, than dim-seen eagle?What is it? And to what shall I compare it?It has a glory, and nought else can share it:The thought thereof is awful, sweet, and holy, Chacing away all worldliness and folly;Coming sometimes like fearful claps of thunder,Or the low rumblings earth's regions under;And sometimes like a gentle whisperingOf all the secrets of some wond'rous thingThat breathes about us in the vacant air;So that we look around with prying stare,Perhaps to see shapes of light, aerial lymning,And catch soft floatings from a faint-heard hymning; To see the laurel wreath, on high suspended,That is to crown our name when life is ended. Sometimes it gives a glory to the voice,And from the heart up-springs, rejoice! rejoice! Sounds which will reach the Framer of all things, And die away in ardent mutterings.No one who once the glorious sun has seen,And all the clouds, and felt his bosom cleanFor his great Maker's presence, but must know What 'tis I mean, and feel his being glow:Therefore no insult will I give his spirit,By telling what he sees from native merit.O Poesy! for thee I hold my penThat am not yet a glorious denizenOf thy wide heaven--Should I rather kneelUpon some mountain-top until I feelA glowing splendour round about me hung,And echo back the voice of thine own tongue?O Poesy! for thee I grasp my penThat am not yet a glorious denizenOf thy wide heaven; yet, to my ardent prayer, Yield from thy sanctuary some clear air, Smoothed for intoxication by the breathOf flowering bays, that I may die a deathOf luxury, and my young spirit followThe morning sun-beams to the great ApolloLike a fresh sacrifice; or, if I can bearThe o'erwhelming sweets, 'twill bring to me the fair Visions of all places: a bowery nookWill be elysium--an eternal bookWhence I may copy many a lovely sayingAbout the leaves, and flowers--about the playing Of nymphs in woods, and fountains; and the shade Keeping a silence round a sleeping maid;And many a verse from so strange influenceThat we must ever wonder how, and whenceIt came. Also imaginings will hoverRound my fire-side, and haply there discover Vistas of solemn beauty, where I'd wanderIn happy silence, like the clear meanderThrough its lone vales; and where I found a spot Of awfuller shade, or an enchanted grot,Or a green hill o'erspread with chequered dressOf flowers, and fearful from its loveliness,Write on my tablets all that was permitted,All that was for our human senses fitted.Then the events of this wide world I'd seizeLike a strong giant, and my spirit teazeTill at its shoulders it should proudly seeWings to find out an immortality. Stop and consider! life is but a day;A fragile dew-drop on its perilous wayFrom a tree's summit; a poor Indian's sleep While his boat hastens to the monstrous steepOf Montmorenci. Why so sad a moan?Life is the rose's hope while yet unblown;The reading of an ever-changing tale;The light uplifting of a maiden's veil;A pigeon tumbling in clear summer air;A laughing school-boy, without grief or care, Riding the springy branches of an elm.O for ten years, that I may overwhelmMyself in poesy; so I may do the deedThat my own soul has to itself decreed.Then will I pass the countries that I seeIn long perspective, and continuallyTaste their pure fountains. First the realm I'll pass Of Flora, and old Pan: sleep in the grass,Feed upon apples red, and strawberries,And choose each pleasure that my fancy sees; Catch the white-handed nymphs in shady places, To woo sweet kisses from averted faces,--Play with their fingers, touch their shoulders white Into a pretty shrinking with a biteAs hard as lips can make it: till agreed,A lovely tale of human life we'll read.And one will teach a tame dove how it bestMay fan the cool air gently o'er my rest; Another, bending o'er her nimble tread,Will set a green robe floating round her head, And still will dance with ever varied case,Smiling upon the flowers and the trees:Another will entice me on, and onThrough almond blossoms and rich cinnamon;Till in the bosom of a leafy worldWe rest in silence, like two gems upcurl'dIn the recesses of a pearly shell.And can I ever bid these joys farewell?Yes, I must pass them for a nobler life,Where I may find the agonies, the strifeOf human hearts: for lo! I see afar,O'er sailing the blue cragginess, a carAnd steeds with streamy manes--the charioteer Looks out upon the winds with glorious fear:And now the numerous tramplings quiver lightly Along a huge cloud's ridge; and now with sprightly Wheel downward come they into fresher skies,Tipt round with silver from the sun's bright eyes. Still downward with capacious whirl they glide, And now I see them on a green-hill's sideIn breezy rest among the nodding stalks.The charioteer with wond'rous gesture talksTo the trees and mountains; and there soon appear Shapes of delight, of mystery, and fear,Passing along before a dusky spaceMade by some mighty oaks: as they would chase Some ever-fleeting music on they sweep.Lo! how they murmur, laugh, and smile, and weep: Some with upholden hand and mouth severe; Some with their faces muffled to the earBetween their arms; some, clear in youthful bloom, Go glad and smilingly, athwart the gloom;Some looking back, and some with upward gaze; Yes, thousands in a thousand different waysFlit onward--now a lovely wreath of girlsDancing their sleek hair into tangled curls;And now broad wings. Most awfully intentThe driver, of those steeds is forward bent,And seems to listen: O that I might knowAll that he writes with such a hurrying glow.The visions all are fled--the car is fledInto the light of heaven, and in their steadA sense of real things comes doubly strong,And, like a muddy stream, would bear alongMy soul to nothingness: but I will striveAgainst all doublings, and will keep aliveThe thought of that same chariot, and the strange Journey it went.Is there so small a rangeIn the present strength of manhood, that the high Imagination cannot freely flyAs she was wont of old? prepare her steeds, Paw up against the light, and do strange deeds Upon the clouds? Has she not shewn us all? From the clear space of ether, to the small Breath of new buds unfolding? From the meaning Of Jove's large eye-brow, to the tender greening Of April meadows? Here her altar shone,E'en in this isle; and who could paragonThe fervid choir that lifted up a noiseOf harmony, to where it aye will poiseIts mighty self of convoluting sound,Huge as a planet, and like that roll round, Eternally around a dizzy void?Ay, in those days the Muses were nigh cloy'd With honors; nor had any other careThan to sing out and sooth their wavy hair.Could all this be forgotten? Yes, a schism Nurtured by foppery and barbarism,Made great Apollo blush for this his land.Men were thought wise who could not understand His glories: with a puling infant's forceThey sway'd about upon a rocking horse,And thought it Pegasus. Ah dismal soul'd!The winds of heaven blew, the ocean roll'dIts gathering waves--ye felt it not. The blue Bared its eternal bosom, and the dewOf summer nights collected still to makeThe morning precious: beauty was awake!Why were ye not awake? But ye were deadTo things ye knew not of,--were closely wedTo musty laws lined out with wretched ruleAnd compass vile: so that ye taught a schoolOf dolts to smooth, inlay, and clip, and fit,Till, like the certain wands of Jacob's wit,Their verses tallied. Easy was the task:A thousand handicraftsmen wore the maskOf Poesy. Ill-fated, impious race!That blasphemed the bright Lyrist to his face, And did not know it,--no, they went about, Holding a poor, decrepid standard outMark'd with most flimsy mottos, and in largeThe name of one Boileau!O ye whose chargeIt is to hover round our pleasant hills!Whose congregated majesty so fillsMy boundly reverence, that I cannot traceYour hallowed names, in this unholy place,So near those common folk; did not their shames Affright you? Did our old lamenting Thames Delight you? Did ye never cluster roundDelicious Avon, with a mournful sound,And weep? Or did ye wholly bid adieuTo regions where no more the laurel grew?Or did ye stay to give a welcomingTo some lone spirits who could proudly singTheir youth away, and die? 'Twas even so:But let me think away those times of woe:Now 'tis a fairer season; ye have breathedRich benedictions o'er us; ye have wreathedFresh garlands: for sweet music has been heardIn many places;--some has been upstirr'dFrom out its crystal dwelling in a lake,By a swan's ebon bill; from a thick brake,Nested and quiet in a valley mild,Bubbles a pipe; fine sounds are floating wildAbout the earth: happy are ye and glad.These things are doubtless: yet in truth we've had Strange thunders from the potency of song; Mingled indeed with what is sweet and strong, From majesty: but in clear truth the themesAre ugly clubs, the Poets PolyphemesDisturbing the grand sea. A drainless showerOf light is poesy; 'tis the supreme of power;'Tis might half slumb'ring on its own right arm. The very archings of her eye-lids charmA thousand willing agents to obey,And still she governs with the mildest sway:But strength alone though of the Muses bornIs like a fallen angel: trees uptorn,Darkness, and worms, and shrouds, and sepulchres Delight it; for it feeds upon the burrs,And thorns of life; forgetting the great endOf poesy, that it should be a friendTo sooth the cares, and lift the thoughts of man. Yet I rejoice: a myrtle fairer thanE'er grew in Paphos, from the bitter weedsLifts its sweet head into the air, and feedsA silent space with ever sprouting green.All tenderest birds there find a pleasant screen, Creep through the shade with jaunty fluttering, Nibble the little cupped flowers and sing.Then let us clear away the choaking thornsFrom round its gentle stem; let the young fawns, Yeaned in after times, when we are flown,Find a fresh sward beneath it, overgrownWith simple flowers: let there nothing beMore boisterous than a lover's bended knee; Nought more ungentle than the placid lookOf one who leans upon a closed book;Nought more untranquil than the grassy slopes Between two hills. All hail delightful hopes!As she was wont, th' imaginationInto most lovely labyrinths will be gone,And they shall be accounted poet kingsWho simply tell the most heart-easing things.O may these joys be ripe before I die.Will not some say that I presumptuouslyHave spoken? that from hastening disgrace'Twere better far to hide my foolish face?That whining boyhood should with reverence bow Ere the dread thunderbolt could reach? How!If I do hide myself, it sure shall beIn the very fane, the light of Poesy:If I do fall, at least I will be laidBeneath the silence of a poplar shade;And over me the grass shall be smooth shaven; And there shall be a kind memorial graven.But oft' Despondence! miserable bane!They should not know thee, who athirst to gain A noble end, are thirsty every hour.What though I am not wealthy in the dowerOf spanning wisdom; though I do not knowThe shiftings of the mighty winds, that blow Hither and thither all the changing thoughtsOf man: though no great minist'ring reason sorts Out the dark mysteries of human soulsTo clear conceiving: yet there ever rollsA vast idea before me, and I gleanTherefrom my liberty; thence too I've seenThe end and aim of Poesy. 'Tis clearAs any thing most true; as that the yearIs made of the four seasons--manifestAs a large cross, some old cathedral's crest, Lifted to the white clouds. Therefore should IBe but the essence of deformity,A coward, did my very eye-lids winkAt speaking out what I have dared to think.Ah! rather let me like a madman runOver some precipice; let the hot sunMelt my Dedalian wings, and drive me down Convuls'd and headlong! Stay! an inward frown Of conscience bids me be more calm awhile.An ocean dim, sprinkled with many an isle, Spreads awfully before me. How much toil!How many days! what desperate turmoil!Ere I can have explored its widenesses.Ah, what a task! upon my bended knees,I could unsay those--no, impossible! Impossible!For sweet relief I'll dwellOn humbler thoughts, and let this strange assay Begun in gentleness die so away.E'en now all tumult from my bosom fades:I turn full hearted to the friendly aidsThat smooth the path of honour; brotherhood, And friendliness the nurse of mutual good.The hearty grasp that sends a pleasant sonnet Into the brain ere one can think upon it;The silence when some rhymes are coming out; And when they're come, the very pleasant rout: The message certain to be done to-morrow.'Tis perhaps as well that it should be to borrow Some precious book from out its snug retreat, To cluster round it when we next shall meet. Scarce can I scribble on; for lovely airsAre fluttering round the room like doves in pairs; Many delights of that glad day recalling,When first my senses caught their tender falling. And with these airs come forms of elegance Stooping their shoulders o'er a horse's prance, Careless, and grand--fingers soft and round Parting luxuriant curls;--and the swift bound Of Bacchus from his chariot, when his eye Made Ariadne's cheek look blushingly.Thus I remember all the pleasant flowOf words at opening a portfolio.Things such as these are ever harbingersTo trains of peaceful images: the stirsOf a swan's neck unseen among the rushes:A linnet starting all about the bushes:A butterfly, with golden wings broad parted, Nestling a rose, convuls'd as though it smarted With over pleasure--many, many more,Might I indulge at large in all my storeOf luxuries: yet I must not forgetSleep, quiet with his poppy coronet:For what there may be worthy in these rhymes I partly owe to him: and thus, the chimesOf friendly voices had just given placeTo as sweet a silence, when I 'gan retraceThe pleasant day, upon a couch at ease.It was a poet's house who keeps the keysOf pleasure's temple. Round about were hung The glorious features of the bards who sungIn other ages--cold and sacred bustsSmiled at each other. Happy he who trustsTo clear Futurity his darling fame!Then there were fauns and satyrs taking aim At swelling apples with a frisky leapAnd reaching fingers, 'mid a luscious heapOf vine leaves. Then there rose to view a fane Of liny marble, and thereto a trainOf nymphs approaching fairly o'er the sward: One, loveliest, holding her white band toward The dazzling sun-rise: two sisters sweet Bending their graceful figures till they meet Over the trippings of a little child:And some are hearing, eagerly, the wild Thrilling liquidity of dewy piping.See, in another picture, nymphs are wipingCherishingly Diana's timorous limbs;--A fold of lawny mantle dabbling swimsAt the bath's edge, and keeps a gentle motionWith the subsiding crystal: as when oceanHeaves calmly its broad swelling smoothiness o'er Its rocky marge, and balances once moreThe patient weeds; that now unshent by foamFeel all about their undulating home.Sappho's meek head was there half smiling downAt nothing; just as though the earnest frownOf over thinking had that moment goneFrom off her brow, and left her all alone.Great Alfred's too, with anxious, pitying eyes,As if he always listened to the sighsOf the goaded world; and Kosciusko's wornBy horrid suffrance--mightily forlorn.Petrarch, outstepping from the shady green,Starts at the sight of Laura; nor can weanHis eyes from her sweet face. Most happy they!For over them was seen a free displayOf out-spread wings, and from between them shone The face of Poesy: from off her throneShe overlook'd things that I scarce could tell.The very sense of where I was might wellKeep Sleep aloof: but more than that there came Thought after thought to nourish up the flame Within my breast; so that the morning light Surprised me even from a sleepless night;And up I rose refresh'd, and glad, and gay, Resolving to begin that very dayThese lines; and howsoever they be done,I leave them as a father does his son. Ode to a Nightingale《夜莺颂》My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness painsMy sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,Or emptied some dull opiate to the drainsOne minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,But being too happy in thy happiness, -That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,In some melodious plotOf beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.O for a draught of vintage! that hath beenCooled a long age in the deep-delved earth,Tasting of Flora and the country-green,Dance, and Provencal 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 brimAnd purple-stained mouth;That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,And with thee fade away into the forest dim.Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forgetWhat thou among the leaves hast never known,The weariness, the fever, and the fretHere, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrowAnd leaden-eyed despairs;Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,Or new Love pine at them beyond tomorrow.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, Clustered around by all her starry Fays;But here there is no lightSave what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.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 endowsThe grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;Fast-fading violets covered up in leaves;And mid-May's eldest childThe coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. Darkling I listen; and for many a timeI have been half in love with easeful Death,Called 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 abroadIn such an ecstasy!Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain -To thy high requiem become a sod.Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!。
keats描写时光的诗歌
约翰·济慈（John Keats）是英国19世纪著名的浪漫主义诗人之一，他的诗歌作品主题广泛，其中一些作品涉及了对时光的描写。
以下是一首济慈描写时光的诗歌：
《秋颂》
（一）
露水晶莹的八月早晨，
饱经风霜的岁月已尽，
熠熠闪耀的金色秋分，
丰收的季节已来临。
（二）
夕阳洒下柔和的光辉，
在田野上挥别夏日，
沉甸甸的果实垂头丧气，
沐浴着金黄的秋意浓。
（三）
采摘吧，欢庆吧，你们人类，
品尝那甜美的葡萄佳酿，
畅饮那芳香醇厚的醇酒，
在丰收的季节里欢唱。
（四）
夜幕即将降临的时刻，
晚霞映照着天边残云，
收获的人们归去的路上，
留下的是明月的清辉光。
（五）
时光荏苒不停歇，
季节更迭亦如斯，
让我们珍惜每一个时刻，把握美好的金秋时光。
John Keats 约翰 济慈
1. 《夜莺颂》的主题表达了夜莺不朽与美妙的歌 声。全诗笼罩在一片幽暗之中，我们可以听到它 的歌声却见不到它的身影，这就更突出了夜莺的 精神特性。 2. 《夜莺颂》的主题表达了审美体验的短暂性与 欺骗性。诗人对莺歌德反映是麻木 （drowsynumbness）,眩晕（intoxication）,幻觉 和对死亡的渴求。——当然，这是诗后面所提到 的 3. 《夜莺颂》的主题表达了审美体验中两种相悖 的因素和情感。对夜莺的歌声，诗人既感到喜悦 （esctatic）又感到悲哀(plaintive)。我们看到的一 方面是夜莺的不朽与欢快，一方面则是人生的短 暂与痛苦。
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! 永生的鸟,你不会死去 No hungry generations tread thee down; 饿的世代无法将你蹂躏 The voice I hear this passing night eas heard 今夜,我偶然听到的歌曲 In ancient days by emperor and clown: 当使古代的帝王和村夫喜悦 Perhaps the self-same song that found a path 或许这同样的歌也曾激荡 Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, 露丝忧郁的心,使她不禁落泪 She stood in tears amid the alien corn; 站在异邦的谷田里想著家 The same that oft-times hath 就是这声音常常 Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam 在失掉了的仙域里引动窗扉 Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. 一个美女望著大海险恶的浪花 Forlorn! the very word is like a bell 失掉了,这句话好比一声钟 To toll me back from thee to my sole self! 使我猛省到我站脚的地方 Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well 别了!幻想,这骗人的妖童 As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. 不能老耍弄它盛传的伎俩 Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades 别了!别了!你怨诉的歌声 Past the near meadows, over the still stream, 流过草坪,越过幽静的溪水 Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep 溜上山坡,而此时它正深深 In the next valley-glades: 埋在附近的溪谷中 Was is a vision, or a waking dream? 这是个幻觉,还是梦寐 Fled is that music -- Do I wake or sleep? 那歌声去了-我是睡?是醒?
约翰·济慈（JohnKeats）
约翰·济慈（JohnKeats）《夜莺颂》是英国诗人约翰·济慈的诗作。
全诗共八节。
开始写诗人自己听莺歌而置身瑰丽的幻想境界。
继而写纵饮美酒，诗兴大发，凭诗意遐想，随夜莺飘然而去，深夜醉卧花丛，缕缕芳香袭面而来，诗人陶然自乐，心旷神怡，愿就此离别人世。
人都有一死，而夜莺的歌却永世不灭。
想到此，梦幻结束，重返现实。
在济慈看来，他生活于其中的社会是庸俗、虚伪和污浊肮脏的，而永恒的大自然则绮丽秀美、清新可爱。
因而对丑的鞭挞和对美的追求构成了他抒情诗的基调。
评论家认为诗人以夜莺的歌声象征大自然中永恒的欢乐，并与现实世界中人生短暂、好景不长相对照。
诗人把主观感情渗透在具体的画面中，以情写景，以景传情，意境独特新奇，不落俗套。
通篇由奇妙的想象引领，写来自然、流畅。
另外此诗也是浪漫主义抒情诗歌中的力作。
第一节My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness painsMy sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drainsOne 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 plotOf beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.第二节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 Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm SouthFull 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.第三节Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forgetWhat thou amongst the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fretHere, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs. Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin,and dies; Where nut to think is to be full of sorrowAnd leaden-eyed despairs;Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,Or new Love pine at thembeyond to-morrow.第四节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, Clustered 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.第五节I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,Nor what soft incensehangs 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 covered 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.第六节Darkling I listen; and for many a timeI have been half in love with easeful Death, Called 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 abroadIn such an ecstasy!Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain --To thy high requiem become a sod.第七节Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!No hungry generations treadthee down;The voice I hear this passing night eas heardIn 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 hathCharm'd magic casement, opening on the foamOf perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.第八节Forlorn! the very word is like a bellTo toll me back from thee to my sole self!Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so wellAs she is famed to do, deceiving elf.Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fadesPast the near meadows, over the still stream,Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deepIn the next valley-glades:Was is a vision, or a waking dream?Fled is that music -- Do I wake or sleep?注释1、hemlock:毒胡萝卜精，一种毒药，人服后，将全身麻木而死亡。
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John Keats 1795-1821Portrait of Keats•Portrait of John Keats in Rome, shortly before his death from tuberculosis in February 1821, by his friend Joseph Severn.Life of John Keats•10/31/1795John Keats, the son of a livery-stable manager, was born in London on October 31, 1795•1804Death of Keats father. Mother remarried but marriage was broken soon after.•1810Keat`s mother died of tuberculosis•1811Keats was apprenticed to a surgeon-apothecary.•1814His first poem, Lines in Imitation of Spenser, was written.•1815Moved to London and resumed his surgical studies as a student at Guy`s hospital.•1817Poems, Keats` first book published•1818Keats spent three months attending his brother Tom, who was seriously ill with tuberculosis. Tom died in December of the same year.•1820the second volume of Keats poems was published•1821Keats died in Rome at the age of 25. Keats told his friend Joseph Severn that he wanted on his grave just the line: “Here lies one whose name is writ in water.”Keats’ House, RomeJohn Keats’ Literary Works•Leigh Hunt, an influential editor of the Examiner, published his sonnets "On First Looking into Chapman's Homer" and "O Solitude." Hunt also introduced Keats to a circle of literary men, including the poets Percy Bysshe Shelley and William Wordsworth.•Endymion,a four-thousand-line erotic/allegorical romance based on the Greek myth of the same. Blackwood's declared Endymion to be nonsense and recommended that Keats give up poetry.•In July 1820, he published his third and best volume of poetry, Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes, and Other Poems. The three poems, dealing with mythical and legendary themes of ancient, medieval, and Renaissance times, are rich in imagery and phrasing.•The volume also contains the unfinished "Hyperion," and three poems considered among the finest in the English language, "Ode on a Grecian Urn," "Ode onMelancholy," and "Ode to a Nightingale." The book received enthusiastic praise from Hunt, Shelley, Charles Lamb, and others, and in August, Frances Jeffrey,influential editor of the Edinburgh Review, wrote a review praising both the new book and Endymion.About Hyperion•The fragment "Hyperion" was considered byKeats's contemporaries to be his greatestachievement, but by that time he hadreached an advanced stage of his disease andwas too ill to be encouraged.•The opening page of the manuscript of Keats's epic fragment, `Hyperion', begun in 1818 but not published until 1820. Thisfirst version of the poem is concerned, like so much of Keats'swriting, with the nature of poetry and the development of thepoet, distilled through an allegorical tale of ancient gods.Although this was planned as Keats's greatest and mostambitious work, it was never finished.A Selected Bibliography•Poetry•Poems(1817)Endymion: A Poetic Romance(1818)Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes, and Other Poems (1820)Collections: The Poetical Works of Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats(1831)The Poetical Works and Other Writings of John Keats(1883) Four volumes, edited by Harry Buxton Forman.The Poems of John Keats(1970) Edited Miriam Allott.The Poems of John Keats(1978) Edited by Jack Stillinger.•Prose•Life, Letters, and Literary Remains of John Keats(1848) Edited by Richard Monckton Milnes.The Letters of John Keats(1958) Two volumes, edited Hyder Edward Rollins.Letters of John Keats: A New Selection(1970) Edited by Robert Gittings.•Drama•Otho The Great: A Dramatic Fragment(1819) King Stephen: A Dramatic Fragment(1819)A Keats Letter•Keats's letters have been described as `the most notable and most important everwritten by any English poet'.•This, dated 10 September 1817, is the first of many lively and affectionateletters written to his sister Fanny at herboarding school outside London.•As well as describing the beauties ofOxford, where he is staying with a friendat Magdalen Hall, he tells her the story ofhis new poem,`Endymion', and promisesto confide in her from now onwards ashis `dearest friend'.•Oxford, Sept r10th [1817] My dear Fanny,•Let us now begin a regular question and answer -a little pro and con; letting it interfere as a pleasant method of my coming at your favorite little wants and enjoyments, that I may meet them in a way befitting a brother.•We have been so little together since you have been able to reflect on things that I know not whether you prefer the History of King Pepin to Bunyan's Pilgrims Progress -orCinderella and her glass slipper to Moors Almanack. However in a few Letters I hope I shall be able to come at that and adapt my scribblings to your Pleasure. You must tell me about all you read if it be only six Pages in a Week and thus transmitted to me every now and then will procue you full sheets of writing from me pretty frequently -Thus? this I feel is anecessity: for we ought to become intimately aquainted, in order that I not only as you grow up love your as my only Sister, but confide in you as my dearest friend. When I saw you lastI told you of my intention of going to Oxford and 'tis now a Week since I dis-embarked fromhis Whipship's Coach the Defiance in this place. I am living in Magdalen Hall on a visit to a young man with whom I have not been long aquainted, but whom I like very much -we lead very industrious lives. He in general studies and I in preceding at a pretty good rate with a Poem which I hope you will see early in the next year. Perhaps you might like to know whatI am writing about -I will tell you.•Many years ago, there was a young, handsome Shepherd who fed his flocks on a Mountains Side called Latmus -he was a very contemplative Sort of a Person and lived solitry among the trees and plains little thinking -that such a beautiful creature as the Moon was growing mad in love with him -However so it was; and when ...•“Odes ” of John Keats•Ode to the Nightingale•Ode on a Grecian Urn•Ode on Melancholy'Ode to a nightingale''Ode to a nightingale'•Written on a spring day of exceptional warmth and beauty in 1819, the `Ode to a nightingale' is a meditation on the eternal purity of the bird's song. Its unrelenting poignancy reminds Keats, still haunted by the painful death of his brother, of the inevitable sadness of man's mortality. The opening lines of one of the most famous and evocative poems in the English language are reproduced here from an edition published in 1888, with decorations by the American artist W. H. Low.•Keats composed this while staying at a friend's house, north of London.Every evening a nightingale would sing outside his window, and the bird's singing caused Keats to reflect on sad memories--the painful death of his brother & the inevitable sadness of man's mortality.•Note of Interest:Nightingale is from the old English word "Nihtegale" which means: singer of the night.•It is a personal poem that describes Keats's journey into the state of Negative Capability.•The tone of the poem rejects the optimistic pursuit of pleasure found within Keats's earlier poems, and it explores the themes of nature, transience and mortality, the latter being particularly personal to Keats.•The nightingale described within the poem experiences a type of death but it does not actually die. Instead, the songbird is capable of living through its song, which is a fate that humans cannot expect.•The poem ends with an acceptance that pleasure cannot last and that death is an inevitable part of life. In the poem, Keats imagines the loss of the physical world and sees himself dead—as a "sod" over which the nightingale sings. •The contrast between the immortal nightingale and mortal man, sitting in his garden, is made all the more acute by an effort of the imagination.Ode on a Grecian Urn •It is one of his "Great Odes of1819", which include "Ode on Indolence", "Ode onMelancholy", "Ode to aNightingale", and "Ode toPsyche".•The odes were Keats's effort todiscuss the relationshipsbetween the soul, eternity,nature, and art, which he wasbusy contemplating throughout1819.Ode on a Grecian Urn •Divided into five stanzas of ten lines each, the ode contains a narrator's discourse on a series of designs on a Grecian urn.•The poem focuses on two scenes: one in which a lover eternally pursues a beloved without fulfilment, and another of villagers about to perform a sacrifice.•The final lines of the poem declare that "'beauty is truth, truth beauty,' –that is all / Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know", and literary critics have debated whether they increase or diminish the overall beauty of the poem.•Critics have focused on other aspects of the poem, including the role of the narrator, the inspirationalqualities of real-world objects, and the paradoxical relationship between the poem's world and reality.To Autumn •To Autumn was one of the many Keats had written in the year of 1819.•When published, the poems were not well received, or appreciated, until much later in the Victorian Era.1雾气洋溢、果实圆熟的秋，你和成熟的太阳成为友伴；你们密谋用累累的珠球，缀满茅屋檐下的葡萄藤蔓；使屋前的老树背负着苹果，让熟味透进果实的心中，使葫芦胀大，鼓起了榛子壳，好塞进甜核；又为了蜜蜂一次一次开放过迟的花朵，使它们以为日子将永远暖和，因为夏季早填满它们的粘巢。