Oh yes! My pretty posh baby

Groomed freshly sweet tonight

Love’s glow enchants beauty

A most fanciful serene flight

What ways hip-swayed booty

Juggle curved mounds-full

How they aggravate lust’s remedy

Pulled taught and raging like bull

As an eagle preps’, proudly soar

Silently glides ‘pon helpless prey

Kindly open heaven’s door

So those ethereal wings

May waft invisible perfumed spray

To captivate stricken victims

‘Fore delicious voice come play

Oh me!  Tentatively cocksure

This wondrous miasmic bubble

Secured hope’s timidest roar

Whilst heartbeat thumps pure trouble

Thrills beyond mere excitement

Wreak havoc on surface emotion

Under her wicked spell, no argument

Awash with growing devotion

 

Keats excelled when his literary outpourings focussed on love, leaving no doubt he knew the way to charm a woman’s heart.  The sonnet: ‘To ****,’ seems to target a particular maiden – maybe even Fanny, his heart’s desire – with declarations of sincerest love.  The poem intimates keats is suffering from debilitating illness, because his introduction cites an able bodied man: ‘ … fair form …. ‘ in comparison to his (probably) stricken condition.  Unable to physically proffer attentions of love, he resorts to the only other means at his disposal, the; sincerest flatteries with deep emotional content.  His heart is inflamed with raw passion, ‘ … so well would passion arm me …’ yet he has no heroic, or material securities to enhance his claim, for love.  His undivided attention, in evidence from the morning’s due, until the secretive eve of moonlight, ‘ … pallid face discloses … ‘ is encased in breath taking verse, which is tempered with literary spells and incantations, such as this particular poem.  There is no concrete evidence, without dates and actual placement location but, to all intents, this poem intimates the poet is in the process of wooing, probably Fanny the confirmed love of his very short life.  If Keats’ declarations of unshakeable friendship – for Leigh Hunt – are anything to reflect on, the poet thought nothing of committing intimate emotions to paper, in artistic letter form, to frame episodes of his emotional life for historical prosperity.  He makes comparisons, of himself, with able bodied heroic warmongering – thus feared – knights, and with rugged, fearless, materially sufficient shepherds, who tame the violent and unknowable night.  Keats is confident he is of fitting stature, to broach levels of social status with his undoubted literary genius.  He proclaims undying devotion, with a supposed morning ’til night vigil and when the moon rises, his literary work takes the form of spells and incantations.  It would seem, the target of his affections is Fanny but, at a time before they were actually an item, the; poet proposes himself as a fitting match, and prepares to utilize his poetic ability, in order to prove it.

 

Sonnet: ‘ TO ****,’ by John Keats.

 

Had I a man’s fair form, then might my sighs

Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell

Thine ear, and find the gentle heart; so well

Would passion arm me for the enterprise:

But ah!  I am no knight whose foeman dies;

No cuirass glistens on my bosom’s swell;

I am no happy shepherd of the dell

Whose lips have trembled with maidens eyes

Yet must I dote upon thee – call thee sweet

Sweeter by far than Hybla’s honeyed roses

When steeped in dew rich to intoxication

Ah!  I will taste that dew, for me ’tis meet

And when the moon her pallid face discloses

I’ll gather some by spells, and incantations.

 

 

 

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