The Complete Works of John Keats: Poems, Plays & Personal Letters. John Keats

To Autumn

       Lines to Fanny

       To Haydon

       Lines on the Mermaid Tavern

       To Hope

       Fame, like a wayward Giri, will still be coy

       The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!

       O! Were I one of the Olympian twelve

       Two or Three

       To the Ladies who Saw Me Crown’d

       A Draught of Sunshine

       To My Brother George

       To My Brother George

       A Prophecy: to George Keats in America

       On Seeing the Elgin Marbles

       Song: Spirit here that reignest!

       I Stood Tip-toe Upon a Little Hill

       To One Who Has Been Long in City Pent

       A Song About Myself

       Keen, Fitful Gusts are Whisp’ring Here and There

       Lines Supposed to Have Been Addressed to Fanny Brawne

       Specimen of an Induction to a Poem

       The Eve of Saint Mark

       Dawlish Fair

       O Solitude! If I Must With Thee Dwell

       Song of Four Faeries - Fire, Air, Earth, and Water -

       Fragment of an Ode to Maia,

       Women, Wine, and Snuff

       On Oxford A Parody

       How fever’d is the man, who cannot look

       The Cap and Bells

       To —

       To

       To

       You Say You Love

       Fancy

       A Galloway Song

       Hymn to Apollo

       Addressed to the Same

       On Receiving a Curious Shell, And a Copy of Verses, From the Same Ladies

       Plays:

       King Stephen

       Otho the Great

       Letters

       Biographies:

       Life of John Keats by Sidney Colvin

       Life, letters, and literary remains, of John Ketas by Richard Monckton Milnes

      Poems:

       Table of Contents

      Ode

       Table of Contents

      Bards of Passion and of Mirth,

       Ye have left your souls on earth!

       Have ye souls in heaven too,

       Double-lived in regions new?

       Yes, and those of heaven commune

       With the spheres of sun and moon;

       With the noise of fountains wond’rous,

       And the parle of voices thund’rous;

       With the whisper of heaven’s trees

       And one another, in soft ease Seated on Elysian lawns

       Brows’d by none but Dian’s fawns

       Underneath large bluebells tented,

       Where the daisies are rose-scented,

       And the rose herself has got

       Perfume which on earth is not;

       Where the nightingale doth sing

       Not a senseless, tranced thing,