- published: 03 Dec 2008
- views: 34183
5:19
Ode To A Nightingale-John Keats,read by Robert Donat
The dreamiest of Poems,read by a man who sounds as if he were put on this Earth purely to ...
published: 03 Dec 2008
Ode To A Nightingale-John Keats,read by Robert Donat
The dreamiest of Poems,read by a man who sounds as if he were put on this Earth purely to read Keats.Could it be done any better,more in tune with the spirit of the Great One?
- published: 03 Dec 2008
- views: 34183
2:33
Bright Star - Trailer
John Keats, the romantic poet, wrote the poem 'Bright Star' for his outspoken neighbour Fa...
published: 16 Oct 2009
Bright Star - Trailer
John Keats, the romantic poet, wrote the poem 'Bright Star' for his outspoken neighbour Fanny Brawne. This is the story of their first love.
- published: 16 Oct 2009
- views: 276716
5:24
Ben Wishaw plays John Keats in Bright Star
Ben Wishaw stars as the perhaps the greatest Romantic poet, John Keats and Abby Cornish p...
published: 14 Oct 2009
Ben Wishaw plays John Keats in Bright Star
Ben Wishaw stars as the perhaps the greatest Romantic poet, John Keats and Abby Cornish plays the love of his life, Fanny Brawne,in Academy Award winner Jane Campions Bright Star. The director and cast sit with us to talk about the making of the film, at the Toronto International Film Festival. Nominated for an Academy Award in 2010 for Best Costume Design.
- published: 14 Oct 2009
- views: 23799
5:36
John Keats- Ode to a Nightingale
HDHDHDHD. YOU WON'T REGRET IT.
30 Min. making this, 2 hours rendering in Full HD, 1 1/...
published: 16 Aug 2011
John Keats- Ode to a Nightingale
HDHDHDHD. YOU WON'T REGRET IT.
30 Min. making this, 2 hours rendering in Full HD, 1 1/2 hours uploading it. I also upped the bass a little to give his voice a little boom. /like it needed it. So uh Enjoy his face and voice. :)
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness, --
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.
Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain --
To thy high requiem become a sod.
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that oft-times hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music: -- Do I wake or sleep?
- published: 16 Aug 2011
- views: 186247
3:53
"John Keats"
Director - Tamsin Comrie
DOP - Blair Mowat
The Fates - three blind sisters who measure...
published: 18 Nov 2010
"John Keats"
Director - Tamsin Comrie
DOP - Blair Mowat
The Fates - three blind sisters who measure out and cut the threads of our lives - dance in their workshop to Ryan O'Reilly's "John Keats". The eponymous poet, thumbing through old photographs, is found by the sisters, and transported to another world. I wanted to evoke the Fates in this song because the song is about life being cut off before you've achieved anything great, and because a key feature of Keats's poetry is reference to Classical, mythical figures.
Shot in London in The Idle Hour, Barnes, and Hampstead Heath.
- published: 18 Nov 2010
- views: 7543
44:11
John Keats - The Eve of St. Agnes
Narration of John Keats' 'The Eve of St. Agnes'. For the entire text of the poem, click:ht...
published: 05 Feb 2012
John Keats - The Eve of St. Agnes
Narration of John Keats' 'The Eve of St. Agnes'. For the entire text of the poem, click:http://ia700307.us.archive.org/9/items/eveofstagnes00keatuoft/eveofstagnes00keatuoft.pdf
I.
St. Agnes' Eve- Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass,
And silent was the flock in woolly fold:
Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told
His rosary, and while his frosted breath,
Like pious incense from a censer old,
Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death,
Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith.
II.
His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man;
Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees
And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan,
Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees:
The sculptur'd dead, on each side, seem to freeze,
Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails:
Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries,
He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails
To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails
- published: 05 Feb 2012
- views: 2730
1:56
To Autumn - John Keats
The well-known poem by John Keats, read by Neil Conrich.
Ode To Autumn
by John Keats
...
published: 24 Sep 2007
To Autumn - John Keats
The well-known poem by John Keats, read by Neil Conrich.
Ode To Autumn
by John Keats
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-eaves run;
To bend with apples the mossed 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-brimmed their clammy cell.
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-reaped 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.
- published: 24 Sep 2007
- views: 50260
4:53
ODA AL RUISEÑOR de John Keats
Gime mi corazón, y un torpor somnoliento
aqueja mis sentidos...como si hubiera bebido cic...
published: 24 Aug 2010
ODA AL RUISEÑOR de John Keats
Gime mi corazón, y un torpor somnoliento
aqueja mis sentidos...como si hubiera bebido cicuta...o apurado un espeso opiáceo con el que Leteo astutamente me hubiera adormecido. Nunca envidié tu suerte ni beldad, pero me contagié de tu alegría cuando cual dríada de árboles y ríos... en un rincón melodioso de verdes hayas, eternamente umbrío... con tu clara garganta cantaste al estío. Oh, deja que me embriague con el vino que sale de la tierra profunda... ése que a Flora sabe y huele a danza, a canción provenzal y a alegría fecunda. Deja que beba un sorbo de la vida con bullir de burbujas y ese licor rosado y verdadero muestre al mundo mi boca de púrpura teñida. Beber y, sin ser visto, abandonar el mundo... y perderme contigo en el fondo del bosque. Perderme en lo insondable y olvidar lo que sólo se atisba en lo profundo. Esta fatiga, esa destemplanza, donde los hombres escuchan sus gemidos ese temblor de unas postreras canas, cuando la juventud se ha escabullido. Y llega la tristeza cotidiana... y la desesperanza gana la partida. La belleza se esconde, avergonzada y el nuevo amor perece sin mañana. Mejor perderme lejos, volar a ti enlazado, olvidarme de Baco aunque éste venga, suspendernos en alas de la poesía, aunque la mente vacile y se detenga. Contigo estoy, la noche ya ha llegado. Tal vez entronizada esté la reina luna, teniendo alrededor un enjambre de hadas; pero aquí no hay más luz... que la que exhala el cielo con fortuna, por senderos cubiertos de ramas encorvadas. Yo no veo qué flores me rodean ni si el incienso asciende por las ramas, pero sí que presiento, desde aquí, que la estación hace crecer la hierva, los árboles silvestres, la retama, pastoril eglantina y blanco espino, violetas efímeras y humildes que el generoso mayo nos regala. Y la rosa azmilcleña hace morada para inquietos insectos en la tarde. Escucho entre las sombras y con frecuencia he estado enamorado a medias de la suave muerte. La he nombrado mil veces en versos susurrados para que fuera al aire mi aliento casi inerte. Más que nunca en mi vida morir parece dulce, agotarme sin pena a media noche... mientras el alma vuela por el éter en la visión extática del orbe. Seguiría tu canto y no te oiría. Pues tus notas son fúnebres y frías. Soy ave y no nací para la muerte, ni por calmar el hambre de gusanos. Pero la voz que oigo en este otoño la oyeron ya reyes y cortesanos. Tal vez el canto este sea el mismo que hizo llorar a Ruth, evocadora, mientras lanzaba al viento su añoranza. El mismo canto que reza la leyenda, entre espuma de olas su esperanza, y en el mar del olvido disipa la nostalgia. ¡Olvido! Esa palabra, cual campana, de ti me aleja hacia mi soledad. ¡Adiós! Tu ficción no me engaña, no mortificas mi alma con tu falsedad. ¡Adiós por siempre! Tu himno se evapora más allá de esos prados, del río por recodos, por encima del monte, y queda adormecido en los tristes calveros del valle que abandono. ¿Era un sueño tu canto o visión de beodo? La música ha volado ¿Sigo despierto? ¿Quizá estoy dormido?
La música es el tercer movimiento de la serenata número 10 de Mozart, cantada a capella.
Keats escribió este poema entre abril y mayo de 1818, bajo un ciruelo o una morera en el jardín de una casa en la Villa de Hampstead, casa que compartía con su amigo Charles Armitage Brown y con la familia Brawne. Keats se enamoró de la hija mayor de la familia Brawne, Fanny Brawne. Ambos vivieron un intenso romance pero no pudieron casarse. Tuvo que irse a vivir a Italia para recuperarse de su enfermedad. La tuberculosis se llevó a Keats con 25 años de edad, pobre y sintiéndose un fracasado como poeta.
La correspondencia que Keats mantuvo con Brawne inspira la película "Bright Star".
- published: 24 Aug 2010
- views: 21018
9:27
Mark Bradshaw - Bright star soundtrack - part 1
the newest Jane Campion's movie about personal life of a poet John Keats with Ben Whisha...
published: 10 Nov 2009
Mark Bradshaw - Bright star soundtrack - part 1
the newest Jane Campion's movie about personal life of a poet John Keats with Ben Whishaw and Abbie Cornish.
1. Negative Capability,
2. Return,
3. Human Orchestra - Samuel Barnett, Mark Bradshaw, Daniell Johnston, Ben Whishaw, Cameron Woodhouse,
4. Convulsion,
5. Bright Star.
- published: 10 Nov 2009
- views: 149647
1:53
John Keats - A Thing Of Beauty
John Keats - A Thing Of Beauty - From Endymion - Book I - Read by Douglas Hodge
A Thing...
published: 09 Sep 2011
John Keats - A Thing Of Beauty
John Keats - A Thing Of Beauty - From Endymion - Book I - Read by Douglas Hodge
A Thing Of Beauty
From Endymion - Book I
by John Keats (1795-1821)
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old, and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
Nor do we merely feel these essences
For one short hour; no, even as the trees
That whisper round a temple become soon
Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon,
The passion poesy, glories infinite,
Haunt us till they become a cheering light
Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast
That, whether there be shine or gloom o'ercast,
They always must be with us, or we die.
- published: 09 Sep 2011
- views: 6887
2:50
"Ode on a Grecian Urn" by John Keats
A reading of Keats' famous poem about a ancient Greek vase with a pastoral scene.
The las...
published: 10 Aug 2008
"Ode on a Grecian Urn" by John Keats
A reading of Keats' famous poem about a ancient Greek vase with a pastoral scene.
The last lines are very famous. But poetry is like advertising jingles and it passes unchecked into the subconscious. He was afraid that Fanny "had a touch of the Cressida" meaning that she'd been unfaithful.
Poetry is an anodyne to harsh reality in which Beauty can be False and Truth can be Ugly.
"Thou still unravish'd Bride of Quietness
The guests have all gone home, take off that dress..
You can hear Sir Ralph Richardson read it here:
https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/ode-on-a-grecian-urn/id454359069?i=454359082
- published: 10 Aug 2008
- views: 21173
1:01
John Keats - Bright Star
John Keats - Bright Star - Read by Rupert Penry-Jones
Bright Star
by John Keats (1795-...
published: 18 Nov 2011
John Keats - Bright Star
John Keats - Bright Star - Read by Rupert Penry-Jones
Bright Star
by John Keats (1795-1821)
Bright star! would I were steadfast as thou art —
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors —
No — yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillowd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever — or else swoon to death.
- published: 18 Nov 2011
- views: 4593
1:01
John Keats "Bright star" Poem animation
Heres a virtual movie of the great John Keats (1795 - 1821) reading his much loved sonnet ...
published: 18 Feb 2011
John Keats "Bright star" Poem animation
Heres a virtual movie of the great John Keats (1795 - 1821) reading his much loved sonnet "Bright Star" . This famous sonnet was written by Keats in Joseph Severn's copy of The Poetical Works of William Shakespeare opposite the poem 'A Lover's Complaint'. Because it was written during Keats and Severn's voyage to Italy, many people (including Severn) believed it be Keats's last poem. It was actually titled 'Keats's Last Sonnet' by Milnes in his 1848 biography of Keats.
John Keats was born on October 31, 1795 in London. His parents were Frances Jennings and Thomas Keats. John Keats was educated at Enfield School, which was known for its liberal education. While at Enfield, Keats was encouraged by Charles Cowden Clarke in his reading and writing. After the death of his parents when he was fourteen, Keats became apprenticed to a surgeon. In 1815 he became a student at Guy's Hospital. However, after qualifying to become an apothecary-surgeon, Keats gave up the practice of Medicine to become a poet. Keats had begun writing as early as 1814 and his first volume of poetry was published in 1817.
In 1818 Keats took a long walking tour in the British Isles that led to a prolonged sore throat, which was to become a first symptom of the disease that killed his mother and brother, tuberculosis. After he concluded his walking tour, Keats settled in Hampstead. Here he and Fanny Brawne met and fell in love. However, they were never able to marry because of his health and financial situation. Between the Fall of 1818 and 1820 Keats produces some of his best known works, such as La Belle Dame sans Merci and Lamia. After 1820 Keats' illness became so severe that he had to leave England for the warmer climate of Italy. In 1821 he died of tuberculosis in Rome. He is buried there in the Protestant cemetery.
Kind Regards
Jim Clark
All rights are reserved on this video recording copyright Jim Clark 2011
Bright Star ..............
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.
- published: 18 Feb 2011
- views: 10925
1:51
"Fulgida Stella" John Keats - Interpretazione - [Tratto dal film "Bright Star"]
Fulgida stella, come tu lo sei
fermo foss'io, però non in solingo
splendore alto sospeso n...
published: 26 Sep 2011
"Fulgida Stella" John Keats - Interpretazione - [Tratto dal film "Bright Star"]
Fulgida stella, come tu lo sei
fermo foss'io, però non in solingo
splendore alto sospeso nella notte
con rimosse le palpebre in eterno
a sorvegliare come paziente
ed insonne Romito di natura
le mobili acque in loro puro ufficio
sacerdotale di lavacro intorno
ai lidi umani della terra, oppure
guardar la molle maschera di neve
quando appena coprì monti e pianure.
No, - eppure sempre fermo, sempre senza
mutamento sul vago seno in fiore
dell'amor mio, come guanciale; sempre
sentirne il su e giù soave d'onda, sempre
desto in un dolce eccitamento
a udire sempre sempre il suo respiro
attenuato, e così viver sempre,
- o se no, venir meno nella morte.
- published: 26 Sep 2011
- views: 6457
Youtube results:
1:41
John Keats "Ode on Melancholy" Poem animation
Heres a virtual movie of the Great poet John Keats reading from his set of six philosophic...
published: 21 Oct 2011
John Keats "Ode on Melancholy" Poem animation
Heres a virtual movie of the Great poet John Keats reading from his set of six philosophical "Geat Odes" "Ode on Melancholy" .Ode on Melancholy" is a poem written by John Keats in the spring of 1819. In the spring of that year, Keats wrote the poem along with "Ode on a Grecian Urn", "Ode to a Nightingale", "Ode on Indolence", and "Ode to Psyche". In the Autumn of that year, Keats wrote "To Autumn", which completed his Great Odes of 1819. The narrative of the poem describes the poet's perception of melancholy through a lyric discourse between the poet and the reader along with the introduction to Ancient Grecian characters and ideals.
John Keats ( 31 October 1795 -- 23 February 1821) was an English Romantic poet. Along with Lord Byron and Percy Bysshe Shelley, he was one of the key figures in the second generation of the Romantic movement, despite the fact that his work had been in publication for only four years before his death.[1]
Although his poems were not generally well received by critics during his life, his reputation grew after his death to the extent that by the end of the 19th century he had become one of the most beloved of all English poets. He has had a significant influence on a diverse range of later poets and writers: Jorge Luis Borges stated that his first encounter with Keats was the most significant literary experience of his life.[2]
The poetry of Keats is characterized by sensual imagery, most notably in the series of odes. Today his poems and letters are some of the most popular and analyzed in English literature.
Kind Regards
Jim Clark
All rights are reserved on this video recording copyright Jim Clark 2011
Ode on Melancholy
No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.
But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.
She dwells with Beauty--Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine;
His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung
- published: 21 Oct 2011
- views: 3839
5:21
John Keats "Ode à un rossignol"
Cette vidéo est en l'honneur d'un des plus grand Poète Romantique John Keats
Né le 31 oct...
published: 30 Oct 2011
John Keats "Ode à un rossignol"
Cette vidéo est en l'honneur d'un des plus grand Poète Romantique John Keats
Né le 31 octobre 1795 à Londres et décédé à Rome suite de la tuberculose le 24 février 1821.
Il avait 25 ans.
Réalisation : James
Tenderness4you@gmail.com
- published: 30 Oct 2011
- views: 1376
3:33
"SENZA DI TE" John Keats
Non posso esistere senza di te.
Mi dimentico di tutto tranne che di rivederti:
la mia vit...
published: 03 Jul 2011
"SENZA DI TE" John Keats
Non posso esistere senza di te.
Mi dimentico di tutto tranne che di rivederti:
la mia vita sembra che si arresti lì,
non vedo più avanti.
Mi hai assorbito.
In questo momento ho la sensazione
come di dissolvermi:
sarei estremamente triste
senza la speranza di rivederti presto.
Avrei paura a staccarmi da te.
Mi hai rapito via l'anima con un potere
cui non posso resistere;
eppure potei resistere finché non ti vidi;
e anche dopo averti veduta
mi sforzai spesso di ragionare
contro le ragioni del mio amore.
Ora non ne sono più capace.
Sarebbe una pena troppo grande.
Il mio amore è egoista.
Non posso respirare senza di te.
John Keats
- published: 03 Jul 2011
- views: 4915