Here lies one
whose name was written in water

济慈的诗和他的生命一样，很绮丽也很短暂

卞之琳翻他的诗翻得很美

《O SOLITUDE!》
　　O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
　　Let it not be among the jumbled heap
　　Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,-
　　Nature's observatory- whence the dell,
　　Its flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,
　　May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
　　'Mongst boughs pavillion'd, where the deer's swift leap
　　Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.
　　But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
　　Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
　　Whose words are images of thoughts refin'd,
　　Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be
　　Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
　　When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.


处女作谈的就是孤独

其实我不是很喜欢浪漫派的作品

济慈的经历和他的诗不一样

他的一生大部分时光很苦，但是他的笔触扬洒的是自由与希望

19岁的范尼和24岁的济慈

希望他们俩在天堂过得美满幸福

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

Lethe-wards 可以忘记的地方

Ode to Autumn
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 moss’d cottage-trees, 5
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; 10
For Summer has o’erbrimm’d their clammy cells.
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; 15
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twine´d flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook; 20
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 barre´d clouds bloom the soft-dying day 25
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 30
Hedge-crickets sing, and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.