John Keats: A Literary BiographyHoughton Mifflin, 1908 - 234 páginas |
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... Letter to Fanny Brawne 188 From the original in the Roberts Collection , Haverford Col- lege , Pennsylvania . Reproduced by permission of Mrs. Charles Roberts . Silhouette of Fanny Brawne 192 From the Keats Collection in the Chelsea ...
... Letter to Fanny Brawne 188 From the original in the Roberts Collection , Haverford Col- lege , Pennsylvania . Reproduced by permission of Mrs. Charles Roberts . Silhouette of Fanny Brawne 192 From the Keats Collection in the Chelsea ...
Página 18
... letter night together , with the borrowed folio of Chapman's Homer , reading rapturously into the small hours . The next morning Keats sent Clarke the sonnet that passport of a poet into the realms of gold . Keats himself had been ...
... letter night together , with the borrowed folio of Chapman's Homer , reading rapturously into the small hours . The next morning Keats sent Clarke the sonnet that passport of a poet into the realms of gold . Keats himself had been ...
Página 29
... letters , in later years , is corroborative . Certain passages of “ En- dymion , " which may fairly be taken as con- fessional , are convincing . The moon moved his childish heart potently . It was the consoling mother for his tears ...
... letters , in later years , is corroborative . Certain passages of “ En- dymion , " which may fairly be taken as con- fessional , are convincing . The moon moved his childish heart potently . It was the consoling mother for his tears ...
Página 44
... letters tell the story very vividly . He left companionable Hampstead and went to the Isle of Wight for solitude and concentra- tion . You can see him on the stage - coach , riding outside , wrapped in a plaid shawl , his hungry eyes ...
... letters tell the story very vividly . He left companionable Hampstead and went to the Isle of Wight for solitude and concentra- tion . You can see him on the stage - coach , riding outside , wrapped in a plaid shawl , his hungry eyes ...
Página 45
... letters he is now " everlasting friend " to Haydon . He admits that Hunt is the victim of ' self - delusions " and dreads such for himself . Money - matters distress him ; he calls them nettles in his bed . Black ravens of distrust fly ...
... letters he is now " everlasting friend " to Haydon . He admits that Hunt is the victim of ' self - delusions " and dreads such for himself . Money - matters distress him ; he calls them nettles in his bed . Black ravens of distrust fly ...
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John Keats: A Literary Biography (Classic Reprint) Albert Elmer Hancock Sin vista previa disponible - 2017 |
Términos y frases comunes
æsthetic Agnes amid ancient artist Ben Nevis Blackwood's brooding Brown Byron character Charles Cowden Clarke Clarke Cockney Coleridge color creative criticism death delight Diana divine dream earth earthly emotions Endymion energy English epic eternal Eve of St eyes Fanny Brawne fate feeling force friends genius goddess Guy's Hospital Hampstead Heath Haydon heart holiness human Hunt Hunt's Hyperion imagination impulse instinct intellectual Isabella John Keats Johnny Keats Lamia letters light literary lived London lover Madeline magic Matthew Arnold Melancholy ment mind Miss Brawne mood moon mortal mystery nature nerves ness never night Ode to Psyche passed passion philosophy phrase picture play pleasure poem poet poetic Porphyro principle of beauty reveal Rome says Scott sensations senses Severn Shakespeare Shelley Sleep and Poetry sonnet soul spirit style sublime Tannhäuser taste Tennyson things thought tion tradition truth vision Wordsworth writes wrote youth
Pasajes populares
Página 152 - She dwells with Beauty— Beauty that must die; And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips Bidding adieu...
Página 147 - I know not where to go." xxxvI Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far At these voluptuous accents, he arose, Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing star Seen 'mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose; Into her dream he melted, as the rose Blendeth its odour with the violet, — Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows Like Love's alarum, pattering the sharp sleet Against the window-panes; St. Agnes
Página 120 - I think poetry should surprise by a fine excess, and not by singularity ; it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
Página 106 - The Genius of Poetry must work out its own salvation in a man. It cannot be matured by law and precept, but by sensation and watchfulness in itself. That which is creative must create itself.
Página 161 - I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections and the truth of the imagination.
Página 83 - That which is creative must create itself. In " Endymion" I leaped headlong into the sea, and thereby have become better acquainted with the soundings, the quicksands, and the rocks, than if I had stayed upon the green shore, and piped a silly pipe, and took tea and comfortable advice. I was never afraid of failure; for I would sooner fail than not be among the greatest.
Página 147 - ... but even now Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear, Made tuneable with every sweetest vow ; And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear : How changed thou art ! how pallid, chill, and drear ! Give me that voice again, my Porphyro, Those looks immortal, those complainings dear ! Oh leave me not in this eternal woe, For if thou diest, my Love, I know not where to go.
Página 105 - Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own Works. My own domestic criticism has given me pain without comparison beyond what Blackwood...
Página 167 - Yes, there must be a golden victory ; There must be Gods thrown down, and trumpets blown Of triumph calm, and hymns of festival Upon the gold clouds metropolitan, Voices of soft proclaim, and silver stir Of strings in hollow shells; and there shall be Beautiful things made new, for the surprise Of the sky-children; I will give command: Thea! Thea! Thea! where is Saturn?
Página 127 - Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang As if her song could have no ending; I saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending;— I listened, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.