Poetry
While reading the comments section from this article in Guardian Online about Jane Austen and wealth, I came across the following quote from a poem by (apparently) Keats:
Love in a hut, with water and a crust,
Is - Love, forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.
I must read more poems by this chap Keats - except for knowing he died extremely young and horribly of tuberculosis, I seem to have avoided him entirely in my formal education. And I had forgotten what it was like to be utterly blown away by the power of poetic language.
Can anyone else recommend me a poet I need to read? I have weaknesses for both Edna St. Vincent Millay and John Donne, and never saw the point of e e cummings, if that gives you any idea of my tastes.
Love in a hut, with water and a crust,
Is - Love, forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.
I must read more poems by this chap Keats - except for knowing he died extremely young and horribly of tuberculosis, I seem to have avoided him entirely in my formal education. And I had forgotten what it was like to be utterly blown away by the power of poetic language.
Can anyone else recommend me a poet I need to read? I have weaknesses for both Edna St. Vincent Millay and John Donne, and never saw the point of e e cummings, if that gives you any idea of my tastes.