John Keats loved words and understood a key factor in poetry--its music.  Recite one of his poems and your tongue will dance.  Alliteration, assonance, and beautiful rhyme abound in his works.  Nonetheless John Keats remains a curious one for me:  Even as I love these poems, they lack one other important factor:  Depth.  We know of Keats primarily because of his early death--at 25.  Would we enjoy, say,  �To Autumn� half as much had he died at 85?  Both Keats and Amy Lowell make up my �beauty with no brains� category, which I note because Amy Lowell loved Keats--so much so that she devoted many hours to writing his biography.  John Keats is not strictly an art for art�s sake guy, but he comes awfully close.
Ode to a Nightingale
John Keats
Ode on a Grecian Urn
On First Looking into Chapman's Homer
Ode on Indolence
Ode to Psyche
Ode on Melancholy
"When I Have Fears That I May Cease to be"
To Autumn
[Writers]
[Selections]
For more on John Keats--Wikipedia, Baby!
This Living Hand
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