John Keats is the greatest English romantic poet. In addition to wonderful poems, from under his pen came out wonderful letters addressed to friends and family, and representing not only philological, but also artistic interest. The biography of John Keats is very short, but he left behind a great legacy of poetry. In such a short time, and he worked for only about six years, Keats was able to become an epoch-making poet. The works created by him are included in the annals of English literature and are considered textbooks.
All Keats' work is marked with the stamp of genius and marked a new stage in world poetry. The poet, anticipating his early departure, worked on the verge of his own capabilities, completely devoting himself to creativity.
Childhood
The poet John Keats, whose poems urged the reading public to turn their gaze to heaven and helped them soar in soul to the great ancient gods and heroes, was born on October 31, 1795 into the modest and poor family of Thomas Keats, the owner of the stable. The family lived in London and had four children, of whom John was the oldest. The brothers were named George (1797-1741) and Tom (1799-1818), the sister was Fanny (1803-1889). Parents died early: father - in 1804, mother - in 1810. There were not many savings in the family, but they were still enough to allow the brothers to graduate from a prestigious school, and the eldest, John, to receive a medical education. One of the teachers at the school where they studied, Charles Clark, became friends with John and took care of him comprehensively during his studies. It was he who introduced Keats to the ancient masterpieces of English literature, taught him to subtly feel the fabric of poetry and introduced him to romanticism.
Youth
From 1811 to 1815, John Keats underwent an internship at a London hospital, after which he passed the exam for the right to practice medicine. But life turned out differently. By his own admission, during important operations, he felt that his thoughts were floating in areas far from medicine. He, holding a scalpel, wrote poetry. This could not go on for so long, and therefore Keats did not begin to associate his life with medicine, but set out on the free bread of a free poet.
By that time, he was already well versed in literature, highly regarded Edmund Spencer and Homer, and attended a poetry circle. Among the members of this circle, pejoratively nicknamed "The School of the Simple," was the critic Lee Hunt, who later became Keats' friend and publisher.
Lee Hunt
Lee Hunt (1784-1859), in addition to criticism, was engaged in journalism, drama and poetry. He was an honest and courageous man. He published his own magazine, in which he furiously denounced the vices of society and those in power. Hunt was even jailed for two years for his remarks. This created a martyr halo around him and greatly increased the number of admirers. The poet John Keats wrote his first sonnet in 1815 as a greeting for Lee Hent's release from prison.
Hunt was the first to see Keats as a genius talent and in every possible way contributed to its growth. He not only helped John to prove himself, but also introduced him to most of the poets of the Renaissance, and also brought Keats into the circle of the most advanced people in England. Lee Hent prepared the foundation for Keats' future poetry, opening up the world of romanticism for him.
Romanticism
How romanticism appeared in European and American culture at the dawn industrial revolution... His main postulates were a return to nature, to sensuality, to archaism. Romanticism was a reaction to the Age of Enlightenment - the kingdom of rationalism, scientific knowledge peace, secularization of society. Romantics wanted to return religion to man as a taste for infinity, as an irrational component of comprehending reality, as a lost path to happiness. Romanticism rebelled against the pragmatic materialism of the inhabitants and made it possible for myth, legend, epic, folklore to return to the consciousness of people.
In England, romanticism began with poets and Samuel Coleridge. Having met the German romantics Friedrich Schelling and the Schlegel brothers, they decided to translate their theories on their own English soil. Unlike the Germans, the English romantics important place was assigned to the comprehension of social processes and criticism of the emerging bourgeois society. Prominent representatives of English romanticism were Walter Scott, Percy Shelley, Lord Byron, William Blake and John Keats.
Despite different political convictions (Coleridge was a staunch conservative, and Shelley was a bright revolutionary) and aesthetic views (the idealist Blake and the materialistic Scott), all romantics were united by a complete rejection of the emerging capitalist system, bourgeois mores and rational pragmatism. They were also similar in their positive attitude to human sensuality, to the renewal of the poetic structure, to the use of symbols and metaphors. The romantics saw their goal in returning the fairy tale to the enchanted world.
Ancient Greece
Spirit Ancient Greece captivated Keats in his youth. The immortal lines of Homer's Iliad and Odyssey, and the great tragedians Sophocles and Euripides helped. But in to a greater extent this captivity by the spirit of Hellas was facilitated by the amazing intuition of John Keats. The poems of ancient Greek poets, which he loved and appreciated, created in him that light, subtle feeling of belonging to the eternal archetypes, to the core human traditions. Keats's worldview was so saturated with images from ancient Greek epics and myths that he was able to enrich romanticism with this captivating atmosphere of the existence of gods and goddesses, beauty and harmony, joy and greatness.
Becoming Keats as a poet
The eternal lack of money made the life of the beginning poet difficult and alarming. His engagement to Fanny Bron, whom he truly loved, fell through due to a constant lack of money. Bad heredity, stress and worries began to undermine his health, which he did not follow at all, working for wear and tear. Poems John Keats wrote selflessly, completely immersed in the material and detached from the world.
His first collection of poems, modestly titled Poems, came out in 1817 and was immediately attacked by critical journalists. Some poetic quotes by John Keats, especially political ones, were constantly exaggerated and evil was ridiculed by critics. He was accused of being poorly educated, recalling his origins. People like Keats, people "from the bottom" who had the audacity to criticize the established order and actions of the authorities, were not taken seriously at that time. They were considered vulgar dropouts who should have known their place.
"Endymion"
After the publication of the first collection, Keats retired from London to the provinces. There, in solitude, he concentrates and works on the poem Endymion. This big job was designed to prove to friends and admirers the power of his talent. Although, first of all, he needed to prove it to himself. He coped with the poem brilliantly. It is "Endymion" that will reveal all the facets of the poet's work and bring, unfortunately, posthumous fame to John Keats.
In Endymion, the poet combined two equal goals of writing - a sober depiction of real human life with its hardships, hardships and cataclysms, and the artist's desire to fly freely into the field of art. Showing the dark sides of existence, Keats did not forget the bright aspirations for beauty. He proceeded from the tragic view of the irreconcilable conflict between the ideal and the real, characteristic of all romantics. He tried to bring back the beauty that the spirit of the times expelled from the bourgeois, through and through rational society.
Quotes from poetry by John Keats
- "How often has death been sweet to me."
- "I want light from a word than just light."
- "And you are far away in humanity."
- "Beauty captivates forever ..."
- "Strong is the love and glory of mortal days, and beauty is strong. But death is stronger."
William Hazlitt
After working on Endymion, Keats has grown considerably as a poet and citizen. His views became more daring and uncompromising. And then he began to notice naivety and softness in his older friend Lee Hent, and in his views he felt superficial and conformism. Keats himself wanted a real fight. He drifted away from Hunt and acquired a new, more radical teacher and comrade. It was William Hazlitt, a student of Coleridge, a deep connoisseur of Shakespeare, a brilliant critic and a subtle connoisseur of poetry. Hazlitt fearlessly and energetically criticized the bourgeoisie and fiercely hated all institutions of power, observing in them only instruments of oppression of the people.
From Hazlitt, Keats adopted an attitude towards art as a kind of higher power, who is the only intercessor of workers and is not subject to either the pitiful rich people or the arrogant usurpers. Love for Shakespeare as the highest embodiment of endless creative freedom and poetic courage also passed to Keats from his new teacher and colleague. Inspired by new ideas, Keats writes the poem Isabella, or a Pot of Basil, in which he puts in a farewell controversy with Lee Hent.
Throughout 1819, John Keats worked on his odes, later called great. These are “Ode to Psyche”, “Ode to the Nightingale”, “Ode to Melancholy”, “Ode to Autumn”, “Ode to Idleness”. In them, the poet showed the readers new facets of his genius. He skillfully weaved an exquisite mystical thread into the Hellenic ornament of his fantasies. In the same year he wrote the ballads "The Eve of St. Agnes", "Lamia" and is working on a new large-scale poem "Hyperion", which, alas, remained unfinished. The mood of his works becomes anxious and restless, spiritualistic motives appear. Keats probably had a presentiment of his imminent tragic end.
Sickness and death
At the beginning of 1820, Keats began to bleed in his throat, and therefore the nature of the ailments of recent times became very clear. There was no doubt. Tuberculosis has already taken Keats' mother and his younger brother Tom to the grave. It was the turn of the poet himself. Mine Last year John spent his life in creative silence, solitude and peace.
He died in Rome, February 23, 1821, at the age of 25. The poet was buried in the Roman Protestant cemetery.
On his grave are inscribed the words: "Here lies someone whose name is written on the water."
Various sources interpret the social position of the family in which John Keats was born differently: some argue that his father ran an inn, others a stable. Apparently, as a child, his thoughts were not associated with poetry, which subsequently absorbed all his thoughts, but with medicine.
At least, history captured the fact when he submitted an exam, after which he could become a practicing surgeon, but remained only a certified surgeon.
His life ended early and was short (1795-1821), but the most intense. In 1817, his first collection was published, uncomplicatedly titled "Poems" (Poems), and a year later - the poem "Endymion".
1820 marked the release of his third and final collection of poems, in which Keats included an excerpt from Hyperion, the second poem he had just tackled.
It was obvious that the certified surgeon John Keats finally faded into the background in his soul, giving way to a man whose biography then became much more famous than the similar biographies of his many contemporary doctors.
Declassed intellectual
Despite not being the highest social status, John, after receiving them good education, left the environment of small entrepreneurs. However, he did not join a higher society either, preferring to remain a declassified intellectual.
It must be said that in politics, his participation in the activities of the liberal bourgeois (under the leadership of Li-Ghent) was partial.
The secret is simple: throughout his short life, Keats remained deeply indifferent not only to politics, but also to science and religion.
However, even such almost neutral views, which John adhered to, gave the reactionaries a reason to class him as a liberal. Seeing in him a negative potential for themselves, they did their best to subject almost every of his works to sharp criticism.
Even his friends were inclined to view the fact that John Keats passed away so early in the context of the ongoing persecution of the poet by the reactionaries.
Art for art's sake
Meanwhile, the contribution of this truly brilliant poet to English and world literature is more than weighty. After all, Keats, in fact, founded his own theory in art, which is also the most consistent of all previously created.
As John believed, art should exist exclusively for art. Of course, there is a reason, for example, in the poet's sharply hostile position not only to such spheres as politics and religion, even science fell under the power of his claims.
After all, Keats saw art as a substance, abstracted as much as possible from the merciless scientific realities. Unfortunately, many of his friends did not accept such a maximalist point of view.
However, John insisted that art should be art, not a tool in the hands of politicians, scientists or religious leaders.
That is, in the language of his arguments, there is no and should not be a social orientation in art.
Without dwelling on himself, John Keats tried to convince his fellow contemporaries of the correctness of his theory. And, at the same time, he was very successful in art. His work is filled with "monuments of eternal beauty", Which are free from any" petty spite of the day ", and social life is practically not reflected in it.
Unfortunately, the biography of the genius poet is not as full of events and successes as we would like. Its contribution is small in terms of volume, but it wins significantly in quality and originality.
According to most literary critics, John Keats, who belongs to the genre of romantics, is deeply different from his contemporaries.
He is not inherent in retreats to the Middle Ages in order to find nightmares and horrors there, and in order to search for something unusual, he did not need to plunge into the exotic.
True to himself and to his theory, Keats sought and found beauty alone - and his search was very successful. For the most part, John found beauty in the works of Ancient Greece. The interpretations to which he exposed classical subjects caused a storm of indignation and anger on the part of the adherents of classicism.
Calmness - in "quiet sadness"
The influence of antique pantheistic naturalism is felt in his poetry. In this regard, John Keats remains true to his principle of achieving goals with the help of maximum objectivism, and this objectivity is characteristic even of the lyrics.
And in this, in particular, in the treatment of the plots of the ancient Greek classics and the later Middle Ages, his closeness to the writers who worked in the era of Shakespeare is clearly felt.
In his works, Keats tried to adhere to the cult of self-contained art. Feeling prevails over reason, joy is combined with sorrow... John is a supporter of non-resistance reconciliation with reality, his heroes are submissive to fate and seek reassurance, plunging into "quiet sadness", and pleasure, in their mind, is in suffering.
By classifying the basics it contains creative biography poet, researchers tend to see him as an early predecessor of the Pre-Raphaelites, as well as a creator whose opuses contain decadent bourgeois aestheticism (Baudelaire and Oscar Wilde) and are close in spirit to the works of Russian Symbolists who worked on the verge of the 19th and 20th centuries (Blok).
It must be borne in mind that John Keats worked during the victory of the big bourgeoisie... As a result, Keats, who gravitated more towards the petty bourgeoisie in his views, found himself with his preferences in creativity far from the mainstream of raging relevance.
Just like the anarchist Shelley and the Symbolist Blok, John, with his ideology in art, was deprived of real ground. Therefore, the only way in this situation was the path to absolute beauty for him.
John Keats sought and found comfort in sorrow and suffering... Seeing all the helplessness of the class that raised him, Keats saw only one way out for himself - "die quietly."
Personal life
Unfortunately or fortunately, at one time John and his work were not accepted by the public and critics. Only sophisticated bourgeois aesthetes and mystics found Keats to be a genuine genius.
Despite the rather gloomy motives in creativity, in real life John was always surrounded by friends.
Remaining demanding of himself, he is already early stage I found my "hobbyhorse" - a sonnet. John Kitsiscal found inspiration for himself while traveling.
After one of them, fate brought him to Fanny Bron, he subsequently offered this girl a hand and a heart. However, after some time, feeling the approach of death, John initiated the dissolution of the engagement - and was refused.
In subsequent years, Keats was very worried about the conflicting feelings that covered him (the poetic cycle "Lines to Fanny"). The last of his creations is the aforementioned "Herpion", which, alas, remained unfinished.
Critics tend to highlight in the work of John Keats six odes, written by him in 1819. On February 23, death overtook a talented Englishman in Rome. He wrote the epitaph himself.
19th century
Victor Eremin
John Keats
(1795—1821)
The life of the outstanding English poet John Keats was short and inconspicuous, far from epoch-making storms and human passions. For twenty-five years of its short life the poet survived the death of as many close people as few had a chance even at the age of fifty. This sadness prepared by fate inevitably affected the work of Keats. The poet's first biographer and first publisher, Richard Monckton Milnes (later Lord Houghton) (1809-1885), described his life in one phrase: "Several loyal friends, several beautiful poems, passionate love and early death."
Keats's literary career lasted a little over six years (1814-1819) and ended when he was just about to come to maturity. The poet stopped creating a year before his death.
He was the firstborn of Thomas Keats (c. 1775 - 1804) and Francis Keats, née Jennings (1777-1810). John was the eldest of the Keats' four surviving children. He had two more younger brothers - George (1797-1841) and Thomas (1799-1818) - and a sister, Francis Mary (1803-1889). In his youth, the father of the future poet served in a paid stable owned by John Jennings (? - 1805), then married the owner's daughter and became a manager.
At the age of eight, John was sent to the prestigious private private school of the Rev. John Clarke in Anfield (north of London). The headmaster's son Charles Cowden Clark (1787-1877), a prominent writer in later years, was Keats' teacher and friend. He was the first to introduce the boy to old English poetry. John became interested in poetry and even took up his own translation of Virgil's Aeneid. On the whole, the boy was doing well. But on April 16, 1804, Thomas Keats, who was visiting his sons at school, was unsuccessfully thrown off by a slipping horse on the way back - a man hit his head on a stone and broke his skull. He lay in the dark for a long time until the local watchman found him. A few hours later, Keats Sr. died. The children were left orphans.
Heartbroken Francis was afraid to take over the management of a large farm and a month later she hastily married a small bank clerk, William Rollings. The new husband turned out to be an ordinary dowry hunter. At first, the stepfather refused to support Keats' children, and they had to be given to the elderly Jennings to be raised.
A year passed, and grandfather Jennings, after whom the poet was named, died. Unfortunately, the old man left a poorly written will, which left the family with about half of his fortune. Grandmother, Alice Jennings (née Wally), moved with her children to small house near the school in Anfield. Gradually increasing financial difficulties began, which then haunted John all his life.
A few years later, the stepfather took away the stables from the mother, and the woman had to move to live with the children. By that time she was already sick with tuberculosis. Frances Keats died in March 1810, she managed to infect her sons John and Thomas with an incurable disease.
John Nowland Sandell and Richard Abby were appointed guardians of the Keats minors, both respectable and respected in the area. After Sandell's death in 1816, Richard Abby, a wealthy tea merchant, took over all the care of the young people. He did not steal orphan money, but set himself the goal of preserving and increasing it, which is why he went to the other extreme - he began to severely restrict the Keats even in the most necessary.
In particular, Abby insisted that sixteen-year-old John and fourteen-year-old George leave school and go to study with surgeon and pharmacist Thomas Hammond in Edmonton. They learned the basics of medicine for three years.
While studying with Hammond, the young man finally took shape as a poet. In 1814, Keats created a number of poems, in particular the famous sonnet "Like a dove from thinning darkness ...", written on the occasion of the death of Alice's grandmother.
In October 1815, John Keats began his internship at Guy's Hospital in London. At the same time, the young man did not abandon his intensive study of poetry. He developed connections in the literary and artistic world of London. Keats met the poet and journalist James Henry Lee Hunt (1784-1859), publisher of the popular weekly Observer, and the artists Benjamin Robert Haydon (1786-1846) and Joseph Severen (1793-1879), who became his close friends.
For the first time, the work of John Keats was published by Hunt even before their personal acquaintance. On May 5, 1816, the sonnet "To loneliness" appeared in the "Observer". At the same time, Keats' friendship with Percy Bysshe Shelley began.
The internship of the future surgeon was drawing to a close. In July 1816, John passed his exams and was granted the right to practice as a surgeon and pharmacist upon reaching the age of majority. Abby's guardian was pleased - his duty to his deceased friends was slowly but steadily fulfilled. And suddenly the scythe found on the stone. Once, during an operation, John Keats caught himself thinking for a long time not about the patient and not about the sequence of his actions, but writing a poem. The young man was frightened. On the one hand, in this way you can destroy an innocent person, on the other hand, apparently, the main vocation of his life is poetry. And John announced to the guardian that he was leaving the practice of medicine.
Abby was shocked, for he had no doubt that only rich bums could do poetry, for common man the path to creativity is forbidden. The guardian begged, persuaded his ward to change his mind, but to no avail. Keats retired from medicine irrevocably. Lee Hunt supported him in this decision. The young man was inspired by the support of a new friend and dedicated his first collection of poetry, entitled Poems, to him. The book was published in March 1817. Critics reacted to the young poet approvingly, but Keats expected more - at least excitement, like that, which arranged the metropolitan aristocracy around Byron's "Childe Harold".
In April 1817, the poet left London to travel to provincial Britain to work there in seclusion on the poem Endymion. The poem was published a year later and unexpectedly received harsh criticism in leading literary publications. Literary commentators declared the poem "a calm, unflappable, slobbering idiocy" and advised "Johnny" to leave the poetry and "go back to his bottles and pills."
By that time, there had been a significant change in Keats's mood. He became weary of Hunt's tutelage. Whether the poet himself, or at someone's prompting, Keats suddenly noticed the superficiality of the judgments of an already middle-aged patron, his, to a certain extent, frivolity and arrogance. John had a new teacher — the prominent radical William Hazlitt (1778–1830). A brilliant critic, Shakespeare scholar, historian of English poetry and theater, and a political writer, he fearlessly attacked those in high positions of power and the most important social institutions of Great Britain.
Under the influence of Hazlitt, Keats created the poem Isabella, or Pot of Basil, based on the fifth story of the fourth day of Boccaccio's Decameron.
At the end of June 1818, Keats' second oldest brother, George, left for America. He was already married, and prompted to leave young man his wife Georgiana. John accompanied the newlyweds to Liverpool. He was painfully upset about parting, since his seriously ill younger brother Thomas remained in his arms, and the poet himself could not boast of good health.
To unwind a little, Keats, in the company of his friend Charles Brown (1787-1842), went on a hiking trip across the Lake District, Scotland and Ireland. Friends visited Burns' grave in Dumfries and his cabin in Ayr. The trip had to be urgently interrupted - on the island of Mull John caught a bad cold, as it turned out later, this cold provoked transient tuberculosis in the poet.
At home, John found Thomas dying of consumption. At the bedside of his agonized brother, in order to distract himself a little, Keats began to compose "Hyperion" - a poem inspired by the work of Milton. The great work remained unfinished - Keats completed only the first two books. Work on the poem was interrupted by the death of his brother.
Thomas Keats died on December 1, 1818. Shaken to the depths of his soul, John decided to move to Hampstead to Charles Brown, with whom he decided to write the tragedy "Otto the Great". Brown's roommate was a sweet eighteen-year-old girl named Fanny Brawne (1800-1865). At the first meeting, Keats did not like her very much, but a week later the poet was fascinated by Fanny's flirt. On December 25, 1818, John proposed to the girl, and in July 1819 the engagement took place. The story of their love is reflected in the poet's wonderful letters, which, like most of his letters, belong to the masterpieces of English epistolary prose.
1819 proved to be an unusually fruitful year for Keats. It began with the completion of the romantic poem "The Eve of St. Agnes" and the creation of the poem "The Eve of St. Mark". But the time of the greatest rise of the poetic genius of John Keats was April and May, when five great odes were created - "Ode to a Greek vase", "Ode to Leni" (another translation of the name "Ode to Idleness"), "Ode to Melancholy", "Ode to the Nightingale" and "Ode to Psyche". According to numerous critics, it was these odes that introduced Keats to a number of poetic geniuses of all times and peoples. At the same time the ballad "Ruthless Beauty" was composed.
In the summer and fall, Keats created the tragic poem Lamia and revised Hyperion, new variant known as The Fall of Hyperion. Vision". The ode to Autumn, composed at the same time, remains to this day one of Keats' most celebrated works.
After September 1819, Keats did not create anything significant. His financial situation deteriorated due to the fault of his brother George. Since the end of the year, the poet more and more often felt ill health, fatigue, his struggle for existence was more and more difficult and painful, John was weighed down by the incessant need and dependence on friends. In his letters, pessimistic motives are heard more and more. The satirical poem "A Cap with Bells" and the tragedy "King Stephen", which began in autumn, remained unfinished - by the end of the year, the poet's tuberculosis process sharply worsened.
In January 1820, George Keats came to London. He came for money. The last meeting of the brothers lasted for almost a month. It ended with John postponing his wedding to Fanny and giving George almost all of his inheritance to support his family in America. I must admit that Keats managed to demonstrate to his brother that he was healthy and vigorous, and to convince him that everything is fine and well.
On February 3, John accompanied George to Liverpool, and upon returning home he developed severe pulmonary hemorrhage. Realizing that he would not last long, Keats tried to break off the engagement with Fanny Bron, but the girl categorically refused to part with him.
At the beginning of July 1820, the poet's last lifetime book was published - "Lamia", "Isabella", "Saint Agnes's Eve" and other verses. "
As Keats's health steadily deteriorated, on the urgent advice of doctors, he went to Italy for treatment in the fall. On September 18, accompanied by the artist Joseph Severin, the poet sailed from Gravesend, and on November 15, the travelers arrived in Rome. By this time, Keats's condition was hopeless.
On November 30, the poet wrote his last letter. From December 10, a prolonged agony began, during especially strong attacks the patient coughed up up to two cups of arterial blood.
John Keats died in Rome on February 23, 1821. He was buried in the Roman Protestant cemetery next to the grave of Percy Bysshe Shelley's son, William. A year later, Shelley himself found rest and ashes here. Before his death, shocked by the early death of a friend, Shelley dedicated Keats one of his most remarkable works - the elegy "Adonais" (1821).
Byron, completely unreasonably, argued that Keats' death was guilty of vicious criticism in English magazines, which persecuted the young poet.
John Keats was forgotten for almost thirty years. But in 1848 the poet's biography was published, then his works were published. And Keats received well-deserved fame. A remarkable monument was erected on his grave, and the houses in Rome and in Hampstead, where he lived, became museums.
The poetry of John Keats was translated into Russian by K. I. Chukovsky, B. L. Pasternak, V. V. Levik, S. Ya. Marshak and many others.
Five great odes
Ode to a Greek vase
1
Oh you, the device of slow ages,
Peace is your chaste bridegroom.
Your flowers are more captivating than poetry.
Forgotten the language of your forest legends.
Who is this? People or deities?
What is driving them away? Fright? Delight? Ecstasy?
O virgins! You run headlong away.
How to guess what is on your lips?
A cry of fear? A wild cry of celebration?
What is the pipe singing in the shade of the oak groves?
2
Sounds caress the ear for death,
But dumb music is dearer to me.
Play the flute, captivating my spirit
With its silent melody.
O young man! You will sing forever.
The trees will never fly around.
Enamored! You will not get drunk with bliss
In vain you strive for a beloved passionate glance.
But your love will not die in the future,
And cute features will not fade.
3
Happy forest! Do not be afraid of cold weather!
You will never say goodbye to foliage.
Happy musician! In the shade of oak trees
The live melody will never cease.
Happy, happy love!
Your holy power is sweet to us.
You are filled with eternal warmth.
What is blind passion in front of you,
The sterile heat inhaling into the blood
Burning with flames of the body.
4
Where will you, priest, lead the heifer?
In the garlands - the silk of its steep sides.
Where will you thrust the sacred knife into her flesh?
Where do you honor your gods with sacrifice?
Why is the peaceful coast deserted?
Why would people leave the town?
The square, street and temple are deserted.
They know neither confusion nor anxiety.
The town is sleeping. It is empty forever.
And why - no one will tell us.
5
Enclosed in an attic form
Silent, many-sided world of passions,
Husbands courage, the charm of young wives
And the blessed freshness of the branches.
You will not survive the century for nothing.
When we disappear into the future like smoke
And again the grief of men hurts the chest,
You will tell other generations:
“In beauty there is truth, in truth there is beauty.
This is knowledge of the earthly meaning and essence. "
Translation by V. B. Mikushevich
Ode to the Nightingale
Heart is ready to stop from pain,
And the mind is on the verge of oblivion,
As if I drink an infusion of hemlock,
As if I am sinking into oblivion;
No, I'm not weary of envy,
But your melody is overflowing with happiness, -
And I heed, light-winged Dryad,
To your melodies
Crowded among the beech trees
Among the shadows of the midnight garden
Oh, if only a sip of wine
From the depths of the cherished basement,
Where the sweetness of the southern countries is preserved -
Fun, dance, song, cymbal ringing;
Oh, if only a cup of pure Hippocrene,
Sparkling, filled to the brim
Oh, if only these clean lips
Framed by scarlet foam
Drink, leave, fading from happiness,
There, to you, where there is silence and darkness.
Go into darkness, fade away without a trace,
Don't know what you don't know
About a world where excitement, fever,
Moaning, complaints of earthly vanity;
Where the gray touches the hair
Where youth dries up from adversity,
Where every thought is a spring of sorrow,
That is full of heavy tears;
Where beauty lives not for a fraction of the day
And where love was forever debunked.
But away! I was rushed to your shelter
Not the leopards of the Bacchus quadriga, -
Poetry's wings carry me,
Tearing off the earthly mind of the chains, -
I am here, I am here! Coolness reigns all around
The moon gazes solemnly from the throne
Accompanied by a retinue of star fairies;
But the gloom of the garden is dark;
Only a breeze, slightly blowing from the sky,
Brings reflections into the darkness of the branches.
Flowers at my feet are embraced by the darkness of the night,
And sweet fragrant midnight,
But all living aromas are intelligible,
Which at the appointed hour the moon
Gives trees, herbs and flowers
Rosehip that is full of sweet dreams
And hiding among the foliage and thorns,
Asleep here and there
Inflorescences of musky, heavy roses,
Attracting midges sometimes in the evening.
I've been painfully in love with Death,
When I listened to this song in the darkness,
I gave her a thousand names
Composing poems about her in rapture;
Maybe the time has come for her
And it's time for me to leave the earth obediently,
While you lift into darkness
Your high requiem, -
You will sing, and I'm under a layer of sod
I will not listen to anything anymore.
But you, O Bird, have nothing to do with death, -
Any people are merciful with you.
In the night, the same sweet-voiced song
Both the proud tsar and the pitiful stink listened;
In the sad heart of Ruth in a difficult hour,
When she wandered in foreign fields.
All the same song poured deeply, -
That song that more than once
Flew into the shutters of the secret window
Over the gloomy sea in a forgotten land.
Forgotten! This word hurts the ear
A heavy ringing voice is like a bell;
Goodbye! The spirit falls silent before you -
Winged genius of imagination.
Goodbye! Goodbye! Your chant is so sad.
He glides into the distance - into silence, into oblivion,
And across the river falls into the grass
Among forest glades, -
What was it - a dream or an obsession?
I woke up - or am I daydreaming?
Translated by E.V. Vitkovsky
Ode to Melancholy
Do not squeeze out wolf berries poison,
Do not drink a sip of Lethe,
And Proserpine doesn't need it for you
Weave intoxicating wreaths from herbs;
For a rosary, do not take berries from a yew tree,
Don't let your Psyche appear
Night butterfly, let it be an owl
They don't call you and let them not lie down
Above the shadow of the shadow, becoming even darker, -
Your sorrow will remain dead.
But if Melancholy is fog
Suddenly it will descend from the sky to the ground,
Giving moisture to dry herbs,
Hiding every hill in the April haze, -
Then sadness: over a crimson rose,
Over the shine of the rainbow in the coastal wave,
Over the incomparable whiteness of the lily, -
And if the mistress is harsh with you,
Then take possession of her tender hand
And drink her clean gaze to the bottom.
She is friendly with the transitory Beauty,
With fun, whose lips always repeat
Your "goodbye", and with The joy of the grieving,
Whose nectar should turn to poison, -
Yes, the lamps of Melancholy are burning
Before the altar in the Temple of Delights, -
Only he can see them
Whose incomparably refined genius
Mighty Joy tastes delight:
And it will pass into the possession of sorrow.
Translated by E.V. Vitkovsky
Ode to Idleness
They neither work nor spin.
Matt. 6-28
I saw three people once
In a dawn dream, they all passed
Before me, and everyone was clothed
In sandals and tunics to the ground, -
Figures on a marble vase
Inflicted - they went round and round
And again they came in a regular manner,
Until then I have never seen
And strange to me - so often unfamiliar
There is a sculptor with a pottery craft.
But why, mysterious shadows,
Didn't my soul recognize you?
Then whether, so that a series of obsessions
You slipped past, not allowing
Me from sleep? - It was a dozing hour,
And Idleness without delight and without pain
Poured into my sensations;
I was numb, and my pulse was quietly extinguished, -
Why did you come and did not give free rein
Should I stay in my nothingness?
Yes, for the third time they approached -
Oh, what for? I saw in a dope
Sleepy that my soul is akin
Flowers ornamented meadow;
Mist hung, but sweet tears
It was not given to fall to the ground;
Crumpled frame grape leaves
Opened in spring garden window, -
About the shadow! You cannot see my tears!
Go away, there is no need to prolong the meeting!
Turning around for a moment, left again
Unhurried line of figures, -
And I wanted to have wings
Fly after them - I recognized their faces:
Love was the first of them,
Then Vanity walked with a measured gait,
Marked by the pallor of the brow, -
And the third walked, whose step was soft, quiet, -
I got to know her, the necrotic maiden, -
And then Poetry itself was.
They left - I lacked wings ...
Love is gone - what is it to you?
Vanity? - It originates
In madness, and his essence is poor.
Poetry? - There is no joy in you,
Which in half days I am inclined to see
And in the evenings in which a dream dawns, -
I would submit to such a fate
But how can you go back to those centuries
When the world was not captured by Mamon?
Farewell! You can't wake me up
Who rests on the bed of flowers, -
I can't live a day with praises,
What a good-looking darling gets, -
Go through, build a fine vision of visions,
Stay only seen in a dream
Antique vessel ornament;
Stay, my genius, in an idle slumber,
Disappear, phantoms, away from here
And don't worry about me anymore!
Translated by E.V. Vitkovsky
Ode to Psyche
Hear, goddess, to the sounds of these lines,
Let it be incoherent, but good for the spirit:
I could not humiliate your secrets
Near the shell of your own ear.
Was that reality? Or maybe in a dream
Did I see the winged Psyche?
I wandered idly in the thicket silence,
But I only dare to remember with embarrassment:
Two creatures under the canopy
Lying in the softly whispering grass;
Near, touching the rhizomes with coolness,
A sleepless stream gurgled,
Shone through the green veil
Azure and purple morning buds.
Their wings are entwined, and their hands are entwined,
The lips are not merged; however, the hour of separation
Has not yet struck, kisses last
Did not forbid the dawn; define,
Who is this boy - little merit
Learn his features.
But who is his dove, who is his girlfriend?
Psyche, you!
To the gods of all later taken to heaven,
In order to see Olympus from above,
You will overshadow the daytime pride of Phoebus,
And Vespera, the night firefly;
You have no temple, no altar,
In the dark before which
The virgins were moaning, making a wondrous hymn
You are united in chorus.
No flutes, no lyre, for the service to flow smoothly,
No sweet smokes from the censer
No grove where she could speak
With the pale lips of a sibyl.
The Most Serene One! Let it be too late to make a vow
For the faithful lyre - the hour of loss has struck,
There are no more good trees in the world,
Fire and air and water are not holy;
In an era so far away
From decrepit Hellenic pride,
Your wings, so bright to this day,
I see and sing with delight:
Let me become, making a wondrous hymn,
In both voice and chorus,
With a cymbal, a flute, so that the service can flow,
The smoke drifting from the censer,
A sacred grove where I would speak
With the pale lips of a sibyl.
Let me, as a priest, erect a temple
In the depths of the spirit, virgin until now,
Let new thoughts sweet pain
Branches and sounds instead of a pipe;
And let the trees be far away
Scatter shadows along the spurs
Let the wind, waterfall, and thrush, and bumblebee
Dryads lull in the mosses of the slopes;
And, retiring into this silence,
I will bridle the altar with a rosehip,
High doom trunks will close in union
With garlands of buds and lights,
Whose Mind, the lord of all illusions,
I have never raised it anywhere else;
I will provide you comfort and tenderness, -
How thirsty you are, exactly:
And a torch, and a window, love towards
Thrown open into the night!
Translated by E.V. Vitkovsky
Ode to autumn
It's time for fruiting and rain!
You, together with the sun, go around the manor,
In consultation on how many pieces of bunches
Dress the vine entwined around the cornices;
Like an apple-heavy trunk
Lean on stakes at the entrance to the house,
And puff up the pumpkin, and puff up the necks
Hazelnuts, and as much as possible
Grow the last flowers for the bees
So that they think that their hour has not passed
And breaks into their sticky cells.
Who has not seen you at the gate of the rig?
Climbing to the backyard of savings,
In the draft, with the collar open,
You are sitting, resting on the straw;
Or, face falling forward
And throwing the sickle among the under-squeezed poppies,
You snore on the strip like a reaper,
Or with a sheaf of odns from the rich,
Having raised an armful, you cross the ford;
Or you tighten the oppression
And you watch the cider ooze from the apples.
Where are the songs of spring days, where are they?
Don't remember, yours are no worse
When the clouds dawn in the shadows
And a semicircle of stubble flames,
Ringing, midges swarm by the ponds,
Stretching out in the sleepless air
Now in spindles, now in a string;
When suddenly the sheep bleat in the corrals;
A grasshopper will squirist; from the gardens
Will hit the repols with a large trill
And the swallow will rush with a chirp.
Translation by B.L. Pasternak
* * *
The day went away and took everything with him:
Falling in love, tenderness, lips, hands, eyes,
Warm breath, dark captivity of hair,
Laughter, whispers, games, affection, jokes, arguments.
Everything has faded - so flowers fade in an instant.
Perfection disappeared and disappeared from my eyes,
The vision of Beauty has gone from my hands,
Gone is delight, madness, bliss.
Everything has disappeared - and the world is enveloped in darkness,
And the holy day was replaced by the holy night,
Spill of love into a heady scent
Weaving a canopy of darkness for sensuality.
I read the whole book of love during the day
And I pray again - enter, Dream, into my house!
Translation by V.V. Levik
To the Star
Oh, if I could be eternal like you, Star!
But do not shine in lonely greatness,
Always awake over the abyss of the night,
Looking at the Earth with an indifferent eye -
Do the waters perform their holy rite,
Granting cleansing to the breasts of men,
Or put on their winter outfit
Mountain and dol in earthly circulation, -
I want to be unchanged, eternal,
To catch the breath of your beloved lips,
Press your cheek against a sweet shoulder,
To see the swaying of a beautiful breast
And in silence, forgetting the rest for neg,
Live endlessly - or sleep forever.
Translation by V.V. Levik
* * *
To the one who was imprisoned in the city,
Such a joy to see above oneself
Open face of heaven and at rest
Breathe in prayer, quiet like a dream.
And happy is he who, sweetly tired,
Find refuge in the grass from the heat
And will reread the beautiful, simple
The legend of the love of the old days.
And, returning to your porch,
Hearing the nightingale in the asleep thicket,
Watching a cloud sliding across the sky
He will be sad that the end is coming soon
The day is coming to a brilliant tear
Have an angel roll down the face.
Translated by S. Ya. Marshak
Grasshopper and cricket
Forever will not freeze, will not stop
Poetry of the earth. When in the foliage
Weakened from the heat, the birds will be silent,
We hear a voice in the mown grass
Grasshopper. He hurries to enjoy
By your participation in the summer celebration,
It will ring, then it will hide again
And he will be silent for a minute or two.
The poetry of the earth does not know death.
Winter has come. A blizzard is sweeping in the fields
But you don’t believe the rest of the dead.
A cricket is bursting, huddled somewhere in a crack,
And in the gentle warmth of heated stoves
It seems to us: a grasshopper is ringing in the grass.
Translated by S. Ya. Marshak
Poems written in Scotland
(in the house of Robert Burns)
Who has lived so few mortal years,
I happened to occupy myself for an hour
Part of the room where the poet awaited fame,
Who did not know how to pay off fate.
Barley juice excites my blood.
My head is spinning from the hops.
I am happy that I drink with a great shadow,
Stunned, reaching his goal.
And yet, as a gift, I have been given
Measure your house with measured steps
And suddenly to see, opening the window,
Your sweet world with hills and meadows.
Ah, smile! After all, this is the same
Earthly glory and earthly honor!
Translated by S. Ya. Marshak
* * *
Why was I laughing now in my sleep?
Not a sign of heaven, not a hellish speech
No one answered me in silence ...
Then I asked a human heart:
You, beating, hear my question, -
Why was I laughing? In response - not a sound.
Darkness, darkness is cool. And the torment is endless.
Both God and hell are silent. And you are silent.
Why was I laughing? Did I know at night
Grace of your short life?
But I am ready to give it away for a long time.
Let the bright flag be torn to shreds.
Strong is the love and glory of mortal days,
And beauty is strong. But death is stronger.
Translated by S. Ya. Marshak
Sonnet about sonnet
If words are destined to wander
In close shackles - in the rhymes of our days,
And he must while away his life in captivity
A melodious sonnet - how can we weave
Thinner, softer sandals
Poetry - for her bare feet?
Let's check the lyre, every string
Let's think that we can save
By diligent hearing, vigilance of the eyes.
Like King Midas was jealous in the old days
I kept my treasure, we will cherish the verse.
Away with the dead leaf of laurel wreaths!
While the muse is in captivity, we are for them
We will weave garlands of roses instead of shackles.
Translated by S. Ya. Marshak
John Keats(eng. John Keats; October 31, 1795, London - February 23, 1821, Rome) - the poet of the younger generation of English romantics.
Biography
John Keats was born in the family of the owner of a paid stable (horse rental point). He was the firstborn of Thomas Keats (born about 1775) and Francis Keats, née Jennings (born 1775). This was followed by brothers George (1797-1841), Thomas (1799-1818), Edward (1801-1802) and Francis's sister Mary (Fanny) (1803-1889).
On April 16, 1804, Keats's father died in an accident. Just two months later, on June 27, 1804, Keats' mother Francis remarried to William Rollings. This marriage was unsuccessful, and the children settled with their mother's parents in Anfield (north of London).
In August 1803, John entered the Reverend John Clarke Private Private School (also at Anfield).
Keats's mother died of tuberculosis in March 1810, and in July John Nawland Sanddell and Richard Abby were appointed guardians of the orphaned children. In 1816, after Sandell's death, Richard Abby, a tea merchant by trade, became the sole guardian.
Keats, who lost his parents at the age of 15, was sent to London to study medicine; he could not afford to get a university education and did not even have the opportunity to study classical languages. Deep penetration the spirit of Hellenism came to Keats's poetry intuitively, since he could read Greek poets only in translation. Keats soon left his medical studies in London hospitals and focused on literature. He was fond of the work of Spencer and Homer and became one of the members of a small circle, which included critic Lee Hunt, who was his unofficial
Autograph
chief executive, as well as William Hazlith, Horace Smith, Cornelius Webb and John Hamilton Reynolds. Conservative critics soon pejoratively christened the Cockney school, that is, the school of common writers. Shelley, although he was a man of noble birth, was also close to this circle.
Financial constraints made Keats' life extremely difficult during this period; he was by nature a sick person, and his body was weakened under the pressure of need. Much mental suffering was caused to him by his love for Fanny Bron, to whom they were engaged, but they could not get married due to his financial difficulties. In 1817, Keats published his first book of lyric poetry, and the following year, the long poem Endymion. Close friends immediately appreciated his high talent and originality, but magazine criticism attacked the debuting poet with incomprehensible anger, accusing him of mediocrity, affectation and sending him to the “pharmacy shop to prepare plasters”. The conservative magazines Quarterly Review and Blackwood were particularly ferocious in this campaign against Keats; the articles of the authoritative critic of the time, Gyford, were full of rude ridicule, which could not but hurt the psyche of the impressionable, temperamental poet.
Existing for a long time the opinion that the poet's life "was extinguished by a magazine article" ("snuffed out by an article", in Byron's words) is greatly exaggerated, but there is no doubt that moral experiences, among which the attacks of critics played a major role, accelerated the development of consumption, which suffered in his family. In 1818 Keats was sent for the winter to south Wales, where he recovered briefly and wrote extensively; however, the disease soon resumed with the same force, and he began to slowly fade away. He was aware of this and reflected in his odes and lyric poems the melancholic mood of the outgoing youth and the mysterious solemnity of the transition from life to death. In 1820 Keats left, accompanied by his friend, the artist Severn, to Italy, where he was destined to spend the last months of his life. His letters and recent poems are filled with a reverent cult of nature and beauty. Shortly before the poet's death, the third book of his poems was published, containing his most mature works ("Hyperion", "Isabella", "The Eve of St. Agnes", "Lamia"). She was very warmly received by readers, but Keats was not destined to find out about it: he died on February 23, 1821. The poet is buried in the Roman Protestant cemetery; an epitaph written by himself is carved on the tombstone: “Here lies one whose name was written in water”.
Keats' poetry introduced into English romanticism a new element of Hellenism for that time, as well as the cult of beauty and harmonious enjoyment of life. In all its strength, Keats's Hellenism is reflected in two of his great poems: Endymion and Hyperion, as well as in the poem Ode to a Greek Vase.
In Endymion, which develops the myth of the love of the moon goddess for the shepherd, Keats discovered an inexhaustible wealth of fantasy, intertwining many Greek legends and adding more complex, spiritualistic poetry to them. The intricacy of the plot and the complexity of the episodes make the poem very difficult to read, but certain passages - mostly lyrical passages - are among the best pages in all English poetry. Remarkable in this respect is the hymn to Pan, deeply imbued with pantheism (Canto II), and the song of an Indian girl (Canto IV), which moves from chanting sadness to a violent hymn in honor of Bacchus. Endymion's irrepressible attraction to an unknown goddess who appeared to him in a dream, longing and alienation from earthly ties, a temporary fascination with an earthly beauty, who turns out to be the embodiment of his immortal girlfriend, and final union with the latter - all this symbolizes for the poet the history of the human soul, sacredly keeping the image in itself eternal beauty and seeking the embodiment of their ideal on earth.
"Hyperion" is an unfinished poem about the triumph of the Olympic gods over the generation of titans that preceded them, more strict in form and full of deep tragedy. The speeches of the defeated titans, especially the fiery proclamations of the rebellious Thea, who embodies the greatness of the dying titans, are reminiscent of Milton's most inspired episodes of Paradise Lost. In Ode to a Greek Vase, Keats glorifies the eternity of beauty as seen by the artist. In all these poems, Keats reflected an aesthetic theory inspired by spiritual closeness to the ancient world, and formulated it in the following verse: “Beauty is truth, truth is beauty; this is all that a person knows on earth and what he should know. " Along with Hellenism, which is expressed in the cult of beauty, an element of mysticism is also found in his poetry: the poet sees in the beauty of nature symbols of a different, higher, eternal beauty. All Keats' odes ("Ode to the Nightingale", "Towards Autumn", "Towards Melancholy") are spiritualistic in nature, which is also characteristic of his Greek poems. However, the alarming, slightly mystical mood of the poet is especially strongly affected in his ballads, such as "The Eve of St. Agnes", "Isabella" and others. Here he develops the motives of popular beliefs and surrounds them with a poetic halo that captivates the reader's imagination.
After Keats' death, his significance for English poetry was exaggerated by his admirers and contested by his opponents; for a long time his work was associated with the literary circle, from which he came out. He was attacked by those targeting Lee Hunt's so-called “Cockney-School”. In fact, he had only personal friendship with this group. Criticism of the next generations, alien to such prejudices, realized this and appreciated the genius of Keats and the merits of his poetry. Nowadays, he is given a place in English literature on a par with Byron and Shelley, although his poems are noticeably different from those of the latter in mood and inner content. If Byron personified "demonism" in European poetry, and Shelley was an adherent of pantheism, Keats belongs to the creation of a deeply poetic direction, where the poet's attention is concentrated on the inner world of man. Keats' followers became, 30 years after his death, poets and artists of the Pre-Raphaelite school in the person of Rossetti, Morris and others, whose work contributed to the revival of English poetry and visual arts.
In 1971, on the 150th anniversary of the poet's death, the Royal Mail of Great Britain issued a 3p postage stamp.
Books
Keats J. - Sonnets (ABC-Classics) - 2012 (Russian and English)
Keats J. - Letters 1815-1820 (Literary Monuments) - 2011
Keats D. - Poems. Lamia, Isabella, St. Agnes and Other Poems (Literary Monuments) - 1986
Dyakonova N.Ya. - Keats and His Contemporaries (From the History of World Culture) - 1973
John Keats (eng. John Keats October 31, 1795, London - February 23, 1821, Rome) - the great poet of the younger generation of English romantics. John Keats was born in the family of the owner of a paid stable (horse rental point). He was the firstborn of Thomas Keats (born about 1775) and Francis Keats, née Jennings (born 1775). This was followed by brothers George (1797-1841), Thomas (1799-1818), Edward (1801-1802) and Francis's sister Mary (Fanny) (1803-1889). On April 16, 1804, Keats's father died in an accident. Just two months later, on June 27, 1804, Keats' mother Francis remarried to William Rollings. This marriage was unsuccessful, and the children settled with their mother's parents in Anfield (north of London).
In August 1803) John enrolled in the private private school of the Reverend John Clarke (also at Anfield).
Keats's mother died of tuberculosis in March 1810, and in July John Nawland Sanddell and Richard Abby were appointed guardians of the orphaned children. In 1816, after Sandell's death, Richard Abby, a tea merchant by trade, became the sole guardian.
Keats, who lost his parents at the age of 15, was sent to London to study medicine; he could not afford to get a university education and did not even have the opportunity to study classical languages. The deep penetration of the spirit of Hellenism came into Keats's poetry intuitively, since he could only read Greek poets in translation. Keats soon left his medical studies in London hospitals and focused on literature. He was fond of the works of Spencer and Homer and became one of the members of a small circle, which included critic Lee Hunt, who was its unofficial leader, as well as William Hazlith, Horace Smith, Cornelius Webb and John Hamilton Reynolds. Conservative critics soon pejoratively dubbed the circle "Cockney school", that is, the school of common authors. Shelley, although he was a man of noble birth, was also close to this circle.
The constrained financial circumstances made life for Keats extremely difficult during this period; he was by nature a sick person, and his body was weakened under the pressure of need. Much mental suffering was caused to him by his love for Fannie Brown, a wayward beauty who did not agree to marry him until he established a position in society. In 1817, Keats published the first book of lyric poetry, and the following year - the big poem "Endymion" ("Endymion"). Close friends immediately appreciated his high talent and originality, but magazine criticism attacked the debuting poet with incomprehensible anger, accusing him of mediocrity, affectation and sending him to the “pharmacy shop to prepare plasters”. The conservative magazines Quarterly Review and Blackwood were particularly ferocious in this campaign against Keats; the articles of the authoritative critic of the time, Gyford, were full of rude ridicule, which could not but hurt the psyche of the impressionable, temperamental poet.
The long-held view that Keats' life was "snuffed out by an article" is greatly exaggerated, but there is no doubt that moral experiences, among which critical attacks played a major role, accelerated the development of hereditary consumption ... In 1818 Keats was sent for the winter to south Wales, where he recovered briefly and wrote extensively; however, the disease soon resumed with the same force, and he began to slowly fade away. He was aware of this and reflected in his odes and lyric poems the melancholic mood of the outgoing youth and the mysterious solemnity of the transition from life to death. In 1820 Keats left, accompanied by his friend, the artist Severn, to Italy, where he was destined to spend the last months of his life. His letters and recent poems are filled with a reverent cult of nature and beauty. Shortly before the poet's death, his third book of his poems was published, containing his most mature works (Hyperion, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes, Lamia). She was very warmly received by readers, but Keats was not destined to find out about it: he died on February 23, 1821. The poet is buried in the Roman Protestant cemetery; an epitaph written by himself is carved on the tombstone: “Here lies one whose name was written in water”.