To my brother george. To My Brother George · Poem by John Keats on blog.sigma-systems.com 2022-12-20
To my brother george
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To My Brother George,
As I sit down to write this letter, I am filled with a sense of gratitude and appreciation for the person you have become. Growing up, we didn't always see eye to eye, but I can honestly say that I am proud of the man you have become.
You have always been a hard worker, whether it was in school, on the sports field, or in your career. Your dedication and determination have paid off, and I have no doubt that you will continue to excel in all that you do.
But it's not just your accomplishments that make me proud to call you my brother. It's the way you treat others, with kindness and compassion, that truly sets you apart. You have always been a supportive and caring friend, and I am grateful to have you in my life.
I know that we don't get to see each other as often as we would like, but I hope you know that you are always on my mind and in my heart. I am grateful for the memories we have shared and look forward to making many more in the future.
Thank you for being such a wonderful brother and role model. I am lucky to have you in my life, and I love you.
Sincerely,
[Your Name]
Keats’ Poems and Letters E
The sage will mingle with each moral theme My happy thoughts sententious; he will teem With lofty periods when my verses fire him, And then I'll stoop from heaven to inspire him. Yet further off, are dimly seen their bowers, Of which, no mortal eye can reach the flowers; And 'tis right just, for well Apollo knows 'Twould make the Poet quarrel with the rose. These wonders strange be sees, and many more, Whose head is pregnant with poetic lore. And the broad winged sea-gull never at rest; For when no more he spreads his feathers free, His breast is dancing on the restless sea. This last does not vary from the printed text, and bears no date; but the other transcript, like that of the Epistle to George Keats, is subscribed "Margate, August, 1816.
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To My Brother George · Poem by John Keats on blog.sigma-systems.com
Full joy I feel, while thus I cleave the air, That my soft verse will charm thy daughters fair, And warm thy sons! Gay villagers, upon a morn of May When they have tired their gentle limbs, with play, And form'd a snowy circle on the grass, And plac'd in midst of all that lovely lass Who chosen is their queen,--with her fine head Crowned with flowers purple, white, and red: For there the lily, and the musk-rose, sighing, Are emblems true of hapless lovers dying: Between her breasts, that never yet felt trouble, A bunch of violets full blown, and double, Serenely sleep:--she from a casket takes A little book,--and then a joy awakes About each youthful heart,--with stifled cries, And rubbing of white hands, and sparkling eyes: For she's to read a tale of hopes, and fears; One that I foster'd in my youthful years: The pearls, that on each glist'ning circlet sleep, Gush ever and anon with silent creep, Lured by the innocent dimples. When these enchanted portals open wide, And through the light the horsemen swiftly glide, The Poet's eye can reach those golden halls, And view the glory of their festivals: Their ladies fair, that in the distance seem Fit for the silv'ring of a seraph's dream; Their rich brimmed goblets, that incessant run Like the bright spots that move about the sun; And, when upheld, the wine from each bright jar Pours with the lustre of a falling star. To sweet rest Shall the dear babe, upon its mother's breast, Be lull'd with songs of mine. Now I direct my eyes into the west, Which at this moment is in sunbeams drest: Why westward turn? The final couplet was originally -- The Sights have warmed me but without thy love, What Joy in Earth or Sea or Heaven above? He and Georgiana prospered in Louisville, Kentucky, until their deaths. What does he murmur with his latest breath, While his proud eye looks through the film of death? These things I thought While, in my face, the freshest breeze I caught.
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Sonnet I. To My Brother George by John Keats
These wonders strange he sees, and many more, Whose head is pregnant with poetic lore. Should he upon an evening ramble fare With forehead to the soothing breezes bare, Would he nought see but the dark, silent blue With all its diamonds trembling through and through? I have collated this draft with a careful transcript made by George Keats himself, and with another in Tom Keats's copy-book. But what, without the social thought of thee, Would be the wonders of the sky and sea? Full joy I feel, while thus I cleave the air, That my soft verse will charm thy daughters fair, And warm thy sons! E'en now, dear George, while this for you I write, Cynthia is from her silken curtains peeping So scantly, that it seems her bridal night, And she her half-discovered revels keeping. What does he murmur with his latest breath, While his proud eye looks though the film of death? I see the lark dowm-dropping to his nest, And the broad winged sea-gull never at rest; For when no more he spreads his feathers free, His breast is dancing on the restless sea. Gay villagers, upon a morn of May, When they have tired their gentle limbs with play And formed a snowy circle on the grass, And placed in midst of all that lovely lass Who chosen is their queen, -with her fine head Crowned with flowers purple, white, and red: For there the lily, and the musk-rose, sighing, Are emblems true of hapless lovers dying: Between her breasts, that never yet felt trouble, A bunch of violets full blown, and double, Serenely sleep: -she from a casket takes A little book, -and then a joy awakes About each youthful heart, -with stifled cries, And rubbing of white hands, and sparkling eyes: For she's to read a tale of hopes, and fears; One that I fostered in my youthful years: The pearls, that on each glist'ning circlet sleep, Must ever and anon with silent creep, Lured by the innocent dimples.
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To my Brother George (I)
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Lays have I left of such a dear delight That maids will sing them on their bridal night. George ended up living the longest of the Keats brothers, all of whom died from tuberculosis. Thy dales, and hills, are fading from my view: Swiftly I mount, upon wide spreading pinions, Far from the narrow bounds of thy dominions. But what, without the social thought of thee, Would be the wonders of the sky and sea? It has been said, dear George, and true I hold it, For knightly Spenser to Libertas told it, That when a Poet is in such a trance, In air her sees white coursers paw, and prance, Bestridden of gay knights, in gay apparel, Who at each other tilt in playful quarrel, And what we, ignorantly, sheet-lightning call, Is the swift opening of their wide portal, When the bright warder blows his trumpet clear, Whose tones reach nought on earth but Poet's ear. Lays have I left of such a dear delight That maids will sing them on their bridal night. I see the lark down-dropping to his nest. When these enchanted portals open wide, And through the light the horsemen swiftly glide, The Poet's eye can reach those golden halls, And view the glory of their festivals: Their ladies fair, that in the distance seem Fit for the silv'ring of a seraph's dream; Their rich brimm'd goblets, that incessant run Like the bright spots that move about the sun; And, when upheld, the wine from each bright jar Pours with the lustre of a falling star.
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To My Brother George by John Keats
At times, 'tis true, I've felt relief from pain When some bright thought has darted through my brain: Through all that day I've felt a greater pleasure Than if I'd brought to light a hidden treasure. This is cancelled in the draft in favour of the reading of the text. And on the other side, outspread, is seen Ocean's blue mantle streaked with purple, and green. On one side is a field of drooping oats, Through which the poppies show their scarlet coats; So pert and useless, that they bring to mind The scarlet coats that pester human-kind. All that's reveal'd from that far seat of blisses, Is, the clear fountains' interchanging kisses. Now I direct my eyes into the west, Which at this moment is in sunbeams drest: Why westward turn? Full many a dreary hour have I past, My brain bewilder'd, and my mind o'ercast With heaviness; in seasons when I've thought No spherey strains by me could e'er be caught From the blue dome, though I to dimness gaze On the far depth where sheeted lightning plays; Or, on the wavy grass outstretch'd supinely, Pry 'mong the stars, to strive to think divinely: That I should never hear Apollo's song, Though feathery clouds were floating all along The purple west, and, two bright streaks between, The golden lyre itself were dimly seen: That the still murmur of the honey bee Would never teach a rural song to me: That the bright glance from beauty's eyelids slanting Would never make a lay of mine enchanting, Or warm my breast with ardour to unfold Some tale of love and arms in time of old.
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To My Brother George poem
In line 10 the draft reads silver for silken, and there is a cancelled line 11: -- Giving the world such snatches of delight, for which the reading of the text is substituted. All that's reveal'd from that far seat of blisses, Is, the clear fountains' interchanging kisses. What does he murmur with his latest breath, While his proud eye looks through the film of death? But there are times, when those that love the bay, Fly from all sorrowing far, far away; A sudden glow comes on them, nought they see In water, earth, or air, but poesy. Now 'tis I see a canvass'd ship, and now Mark the bright silver curling round her prow. But there are times, when those that love the bay, Fly from all sorrowing far, far away; A sudden glow comes on them, nought they see In water, earth, or air, but poesy.
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To my Brother George (II)
Gay villagers, upon a morn of May, When they have tired their gentle limbs with play And formed a snowy circle on the grass, And placed in midst of all that lovely lass Who chosen is their queen, with her fine head Crowned with flowers purple, white, and red: For there the lily, and the musk-rose, sighing, Are emblems true of hapless lovers dying: Between her breasts, that never yet felt trouble, A bunch of violets full blown, and double, Serenely sleep: she from a casket takes A little book, and then a joy awakes About each youthful heart, with stifled cries, And rubbing of white hands, and sparkling eyes: For she's to read a tale of hopes, and fears; One that I fostered in my youthful years: The pearls, that on each glist'ning circlet sleep, Must ever and anon with silent creep, Lured by the innocent dimples. The sage will mingle with each moral theme My happy thoughts sententious; he will teem With lofty periods when my verses fire him, And then I'll stoop from heaven to inspire him. E'en now I'm pillowed on a bed of flowers That crowns a lofty clift, which proudly towers Above the ocean-waves, The stalks, and blades, Chequer my tablet with their quivering shades. In line 13 the transcript has 'thoughts' for 'thought. Lays have I left of such a dear delight That maids will sing them on their bridal night. The stalks, and blades, Chequer my tablet with their, quivering shades. Thy dales, and hills, are fading from my view: Swiftly I mount, upon wide spreading pinions, Far from the narrow bound of thy dominions.
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Poem: To My Brother George. by John Keats
The patriot shall feel My stern alarum, and unsheath his steel; Or, in the senate thunder out my numbers To startle princes from their easy slumbers. Line 8 in both draft and transcript is -- Must muse on what's to come and what has bee. Of late, too, I have had much calm enjoyment, Stretch'd on the grass at my best lov'd employment Of scribbling lines for you. I see the lark dowm-dropping to his nest, And the broad winged sea-gull never at rest; For when no more he spreads his feathers free, His breast is dancing on the restless sea. George afterward attempted life in America one more time. To sweet rest Shall the dear babe, upon its mother's breast, Be lulled with songs of mine. On one side is a field of drooping oats, Through which the poppies show their scarlet coats; So pert and useless, that they bring to mind The scarlet coats that pester human-kind.
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