Ode to Early Death: John Keats

(To Fanny, on the death of our mutual friend John Keats)

What steadfast equilibrium

Can border vastness of grief?

Nothing ever becomes as real

Till it be experience.

Life’s fragile day is done for Keats

Imagination his belief

His Monastry, he its Monk

Beauty’s spell, fervent relief.

He died in Rome mourned by so few

Bright star, by none more than you

He hears your tender-taken breath

Ever feels soft fall and swell.

If warm,  wind plucked purest  harp

Words from tranquillity have sprung

Then Nature’s might and awe arouse
World’s sheer grandeur will be sung

Yet will black shadows cross the land

Swarming clouds of  Erinyes

Snatching this poet young and sweet

More mortal than his poetry.


In the style of Horace Odes Book I . XXIV


1 Comment

Filed under Death, Poem

One response to “Ode to Early Death: John Keats

  1. Very beautiful. It is all of Keats and more.


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