Tag Archive: John Keats poems

On death

                                 I. Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by? The transient pleasures as a vision seem, And yet we think the greatest pain’s to die.       …

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On Receiving a Curious Shell, and a Copy of Verses from the Same Ladies

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 flutters in sun-beams that shine through a fountain? Hast thou a goblet for dark sparkling wine?                           …

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