John Keats
"John Keats was born on 31 October 1795 (probably), first child of Thomas Keats and Frances Jennings Keats, who had apparently eloped1. Everything was"
Dragoste moderna
Ce-i dragostea?Papusa dichisita, S-o mangaie si s-o resfete lenea; Urzeala de incurcaturi divine, Incat neghiobii tineri toti se cred Divini prin
Ultimul sonet a lui Keats
De-as fi ca tine, stea de foc, statornic, Nu noaptea -prin vapaia stralucirii- Cu ochi deschis doar sa veghez datornic, Ca un Ermit neadormit al
Bătrâna Meg
Bătrâna Meg era țigancă și locuia pe deal... în seară dormea pe pat de iarbă neagră, căci casa ei era afară. In loc de mere - murii
Sonet
Tu,ce-ai simit in ochi al iernii vifor, Vazand prin ceturi norii de omaturi Si varf de ulmi prin stelele-nghetate, Simti-vei seceris ca-i
Versuri de la Endymion
Un lucru frumos este o bucurie inepuizabilă: farmecul său sporește; nu va trece niciodată în nimicnicie; ci va păstra încă un umbrar
Lui Burns
O, trupul muritor din mii de zile Un spatiu umple-n propria-ti odaie, Unde visata-ai lauri peste file, Uitand ca soarta poate sa-ncovoaie. Puls
Randuri despre Taverna Sirenelor
Suflete de barzi, azi lut, Eliseu ati cunoscut, Camp, sau toata muschi caverna, Loc mai bun cum cel chemat A Sirenelor Taverna? Care gazda
O, cat imi place...
O, cat imi place,-n mandra zi de vara, Cand curg torenti de aur din apus Si pe imbalsamati zefiri dorm sus Nori vii de-argint - sa fiu departe,
To hope
When by my solitary hearth I sit, And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom; When no fair dreams before my \"mind\'s eye\" flit, And the bare
Această mână vie
Această mână vie, acum caldă și-n stare de cea mai sinceră îmbrățișare dacă ea ar fi rece și în tăcerea de gheață a mormântului, în așa fel ți-ar
Dragoste modernă
Ce-i dragostea? Păpușă dichisită, S-o mângâie și s-o răsfețe lenea; Urzeală de încurcături divine, Încât neghiobii tineri toți se cred
Texte în alte limbi:
To Autumn
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
Bright Star
Bright star! would I were steadfast as thou art Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night, And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like
La Belle Dame Sans Merci
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, Alone and palely loitering; The sedge is withered from the lake, And no birds sing. Ah, what can
Ode on a Grecian Urn
Thou still unravish\'d bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery
On the Grasshopper and the Cricket
The poetry of earth is never dead: When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to
On First Looking into Chapman\'s Homer
Much have I traveled in the realms of gold And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in
Calidore
A Fragment YOUNG Calidore is paddling o’er the lake; His healthful spirit eager and awake To feel the beauty of a silent eve, Which seem’d full
Woman! when I behold thee flippant, vain
WOMAN! when I behold thee flippant, vain, Inconstant, childish, proud, and full of fancies; Without that modest softening that enhances The
This Living Hand
This living hand, now warm and capable Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold And in the icy silence of the tomb, So haunt thy days and chill
On receiving a curious Shell
HAST thou from the caves of Golconda, a gem Pure as the ice-drop that froze on the mountain? Bright as the humming-bird’s green diadem, When it
I stood tip-toe upon a little hill
I STOOD tip-toe upon a little hill, The air was cooling, and so very still, That the sweet buds which with a modest pride Pull droopingly, in
Specimen of an Induction to a Poem
LO! I must tell a tale of chivalry; For large white plumes are dancing in mine eye. Not like the formal crest of latter days: But bending in a
To Some Ladies
WHAT though while the wonders of nature exploring, I cannot your light, mazy footsteps attend; Nor listen to accents, that almost adoring, Bless
To my Brother George
FULL many a dreary hour have I past, My brain bewilder’d, and my mind o’ercast With heaviness; in seasons when I’ve thought No spherey strains by
Ode auf die Melancholie
I Nein, nein, geh nicht zur Lethe, preß dir nicht Vom Eisenhut, zähwurzlig, Gift ins Glas — Wenn Nachtschatten dein bläßliches Gesicht Auch
To Charles Cowden Clarke
OFT have you seen a swan superbly frowning, And with proud breast his own white shadow crowning; He slants his neck beneath the waters bright So
To George Felton Mathew
SWEET are the pleasures that to verse belong, And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song; Nor can remembrance, Mathew! bring to view A fate more
Dedication. To Leigh Hunt, Esq
GLORY and loveliness have passed away; For if we wander out in early morn, No wreathed incense do we see upborne Into the east, to meet the
Imitation of Spenser
NOW Morning from her orient chamber came, And her first footsteps touch’d a verdant hill; Crowning its lawny crest with amber flame, Silv’ring the
To * * * * [Georgiana Augusta Wylie, afterwards Mrs. George Keats]
HADST thou liv’d in days of old, O what wonders had been told Of thy lively countenance, And thy humid eyes that dance Inthe midst of their own
To Hope
WHEN by my solitary hearth I sit, When no fair dreams before my - mind’s eye - flit, And the bare heath of life presents no bloom; Sweet Hope,
