John Keats

Keats Lethes nightingale Keats, the Heath the staircase in Rome Hampstead Heath house the unicorn sneaks away and all the "Souls of poets dead and gone" and the poetrysouls of Hades are now withered, faded, like bones in a museum, gnawed on by weary mice their homes are now museums where books lie, behind ropes: Bronte, Shelley, Byron and George Bernard Shaw the broken lung, the broken life the broken death you died in Rome, TB, Fanny Brawne recieved a hopeful note; when you are two weeks dead don´t breathe on me, you said, it comes like ice moist italian clay your life mosaic deathgoddess a religion of death was it an ode? that took your life away? "We hate poetry that has a palpable design on us" you were quoted Oh dear Keats allready older than you were did you detest death when it came to you? Were you "half in love with easeful death"? An ode to a nightingale, a grecian urn. ~*~ Keats goodbye, Poet.