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Transcript

Romantic Poetry: John Keats

By: Jared Beacom, Caroline Hendron. Grace Manternach, Keely Newton, Kaylee Olson, Hannah Zapp and Josh Zimmerman.

Poem 1: “When I have fears that I may cease to be”

Style

When I have fears that I may cease to be

Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,

Before high-piled books, in charactery,

Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;

When I behold, upon the night’s starr'd face,

Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,

And think that I may never live to trace

Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;

And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,

That I shall never look upon thee more,

Never have relish in the faery power

Of unreflecting love;—then on the shore

Of the wide world I stand alone, and think

Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

He's afraid that he'll die before he does/

experiences all that he wants to. And when

he loses his love and fame, he'll be left with

nothing, and have nothing else to live for.

  • references nature
  • talks about life and love
  • uses personification and imagery
  • Alliteration
  • Personification
  • Metaphors
  • Rhythm
  • Sensual Imagery
  • Common Themes
  • love
  • beauty
  • nature
  • music
  • life
  • morality of humans

Background

Melancholy

Woohoo Death

Poem 2:“ Why did I laugh to-night?…”

  • Both parents died when he was really young
  • studied medicine and became a licensed apothecary
  • wrote poetry instead of pursuing medicine
  • Sickness in family and unsteady career lead to Keats not marrying, although he did like two girls, Isabella Jones and Fanny Brawne
  • TB ran in the family, which he acquired and died from at the age of 25

Poem 3: “To Autumn”

Why did I laugh to-night? No voice will tell:

No God, no Demon of severe response,

Deigns to reply from heaven or from Hell.

Then to my human heart I turn at once.

Heart! Thou and I are here sad and alone;

I say, why did I laugh! O mortal pain!

O Darkness! Darkness! ever must I moan,

To question Heaven and Hell and Heart in vain.

Why did I laugh? I know this Being's lease,

My fancy to its utmost blisses spreads;

Yet would I on this very midnight cease,

And the world's gaudy ensigns see in shreds;

Verse, Fame, and Beauty are intense indead,

But Death intenser - Death is Life's high meed.

Picture of John Keats

Nature of harvest season

  • Religious Themes
  • Light vs. Dark
  • Asks for godly answer, then turns to self for it
  • Life sucks; I'm laughing for no reason, nothing is good right now, so why am I laughing
  • Human life doesn't last long and just "renting " your body
  • Growing fonder of death over course of poem and becomes okay with it
  • The world isn't good, it's nice to leave it and doesn't care whether it is destroyed
  • Life is pretty chill, but death is better; death is free of all woes

Talking about grain and other things that happen before winter

I 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-eves run;

To bend with apples the moss’d 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’er-brimm’d 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-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,

Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

Steady thy laden head across a brook;

Or by a cider-press, with patient look,

Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn

Among the river sallows, borne aloft

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;

Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Noises of spring are replaced by the noises of autumn.

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