John Keats was born (prematurely) on October 29th, or 31st, 1795, at his fathers livery stable, The Swan and Hoop, Finsbury Pavement. His father was Thomas Keats, head ostler to Mr. John Jennings, owner of the stables. Thomas Keats was a West-country man, who married Miss Jennings, the daughter of his employer, and John Keats was their eldest child. The father was killed by a fall from his horse, in 1804, leaving children, John, George, Tom, and Frances Mary. A year fater, Mrs. Keats married William Rawlings, stable-keeper, from whom she was soon separated, making her home with her widowed mother, Mrs. Jennings, at Edmonton. Though he was not born in distinguished place, Keats syouth did not suffer from lack of money. Mr. Jennings, his maternal grandfather, left over 13,000 :he bequeathed to his widow capital yielding 200 a year, J50 a year to Keats smother, with reversion to her children by Thomas Keats, and 1,000 to be separately held in trust for the said children, and divided among them on coming of age. TJ nhappily, during Keats slifetime, certain funds to which he was entitled were overlooked by, or unknown to, him and his advisers. Keats, between 1806 and 1810, went to the school kept by Mr. Clarke, father of Charles Cowden Clarke, at Enfield, then a rural district. As a boy he was handsome, gay, pugnacious, but the death of his consumptive mother, in 1810, caused him a long agony of grief. Keats left school in the same year. His last years had been very industrious. He rendered the whole of the A ineid into English prose. Books of mythology were his delight, and he could divine the poetry of Greece in the prose of Lempriere. That a Greek dunce, to use the name given to Scott when a boy, would persist in writing on Greek subjects, was the frequent taunt of Keats scollege-bred critics. What education did not give, Nature supplied by congruity of genius(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)
Work of the principal of the Romantic movement of England received constant critical attacks from the periodicals of the day during his short life. He nevertheless posthumously immensely influenced poets, such as Alfred Tennyson. Elaborate word choice and sensual imagery characterize poetry, including a series of odes, masterpieces of Keats among the most popular poems in English literature. Most celebrated letters of Keats expound on his aesthetic theory of "negative capability."
John Keats is one of my all-time favorites. He positively enchants and ensnares me with his sensual and beautiful landscapes, enthralls me in his passionate descriptions of lovers entwined in Endymion (a lovely poem) and his odes are masterpieces, iconic and eternal.
I can't find my edition—an 1866 gilded leaf and leather-bound beauty—but the poetry is the same across editions, more or less.
Lovely small edition of his work, early poems, early sonnets, odes, his tour of Scotland, Teignmouth, faery songs and some of the usual suspects, To A Nightingale, Endymion, Lamia, The Eve of St Agnes, for example. Both versions of Hyperion are contained here. Endymion being the longest, it takes up about a third of the book.
However it is a good little pocket edition and there are poems/sonnets/songs that people won't know. Good introduction for those not familiar too.
This is the earliest copy of Keats’ poetry I could find on Goodreads, but the edition I read was from 1885. In any case, Keats’ writing is always beautiful. I enjoy his shorter works than the larger poems, though. In particular, my favourites are: • On Leaving Some Friends at an Early Hour • Ode to Autumn • Ode to Melancholy • To Kosciusko • Isabella; or, The Pot of Basil
He died too young. His grave is in Rome, in the "Cimitero Acatolico" (cemetary for non-Catholics), where he died, seeking to heal, of tuberculosis. "When I have fears that I may cease to be/ Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,/ Before high-piled books, in charact'ry/ Hold like full garners the full-ripen'd grain;/ When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,/ Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,/ And think that I may never live to trace/ Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;/ And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!/ That I shall never look upon thee more,/ Never have relish in the faery power/ Of unreflecting love!--then on the shore/ Of the wide world I stand alone, and think,/ Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink." (Sonnet XXIX)
Because I read Ode to a nightingale at school this was one of my first books of poetry i bought. It has all the poems in it, so it's hard to rate it. I've not read them all. But on first looking into Chapman's Homer made a lasting impression. As did the sequence of odes. I can still remember a lot of it today, which says a lot.Together with the Keats biography it made a great read.