Here, have angry Keats poem version /I forget/, which I've been working on, on and off, since 1985.
Dead, John Keats? In filthy Roman room. Your glib sad shade may gibber at the Styx. You coughed your guts up. Dead, at twenty six. Your wasted body rots in pagan tomb. Verse, John Keats? You rarely spoke of doom, Used your descriptions and stylistic tricks To clutch a moment when some happy mix Holds you forever safe and warm, a womb. But have the peace you sought, rest whole and blessed. The sparks you struck are true, some of your rhyme Returns to mind and will not be suppressed, Comes on and back like waves, becomes sublime. When all is weighed and said, you did your best To praise a world that would not give you time.
And you have read Pamela Dean's Tam Lin, haven't you?
no subject
Dead, John Keats? In filthy Roman room.
Your glib sad shade may gibber at the Styx.
You coughed your guts up. Dead, at twenty six.
Your wasted body rots in pagan tomb.
Verse, John Keats? You rarely spoke of doom,
Used your descriptions and stylistic tricks
To clutch a moment when some happy mix
Holds you forever safe and warm, a womb.
But have the peace you sought, rest whole and blessed.
The sparks you struck are true, some of your rhyme
Returns to mind and will not be suppressed,
Comes on and back like waves, becomes sublime.
When all is weighed and said, you did your best
To praise a world that would not give you time.
And you have read Pamela Dean's Tam Lin, haven't you?