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  The Romantic Reputation of John Keats On his death two centuries ago, Keats and his work looked sure to be forgotten. Why is he now so well loved? Amy Wilcockson  | Published in  History Today   Volume 71 Issue 2 February 2021 Detail from a double portrait sketch of Keats by Benjamin Haydon, 19th century © Bridgeman Images.  Two hundred years ago, on 23 February 1821, John Keats died. He had suffered from tuberculosis since early 1820 and, after months of distress and pain, finally succumbed to the disease at the age of just 25. Keats was a failed medical student, who had swapped operations for odes after realising his poetic talent. He had been writing for six years and publishing his poetry for four. Contrary to popular belief, Keats was not considered a renowned poet during his lifetime. His verses were vilified in the press and his works had failed to sell.  After his death in Rome, Keats’ belongings were burned to prevent the spread of infection and ...

Chichester

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To see you To touch you  To feel you  To know me Launch Audio i  https://youtu.be/Zr1qiKoMyQ8  https://youtu.be/   https://youtu.be/Zr1qiKoMyQ8   To Autumn by  John Keats   Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!    Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless    With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run; To bend with apples the mossed cottage trees,    And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;       To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,    And still more, later flowers for the bees,    Until they think warm days will never cease,       For Summer has o'erbrimmed their clammy cells. Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?    Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,    Thy hair soft-li...
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the Moon in my sky is  the same  in your eye
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  My breath sleepwalks Under idle street lamps A Nightmares scream 
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  The colour of plums (in October) Grace the inside of your arms (now) Needles known abode (once present)
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  A moody sky Chaotic clouds, rain filled   and a cold chill; acts as a reminder Autumn is here
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  Shadows fall across the page Ominously silent Waging a war against (my) words
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  Child of my Autumn knows what’s important, as she acknowledges  the wealth of torrid tears over smiles in her eyes
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  You like someone, only because I like them And I like someone, because you like them  And they like us, because we like them So everyone likes each other *but only because they are liked *
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  I can still hear, the child in me Without being able to hear You, my child