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Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne: Written in the years MDCCCXIX and MDCCCXX and now given from the original manuscripts — John Shaqi

Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne: Written in the years MDCCCXIX and MDCCCXX and now given from the original manuscriptsKeats, John

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Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne: Written in the years MDCCCXIX and MDCCCXX and now given from the original manuscripts

Name: Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne: Written in the years MDCCCXIX and MDCCCXX and now given from the original manuscripts
Author: Keats, John

Keats, John

Brawne, Fanny, 1800-1865 -- Correspondence; Keats, John, 1795-1821 -- Correspondence; Poets, English -- 19th century -- Correspondence

To see those eyes I prize above mine own
      Dart favors on another—
      And those sweet lips (yielding immortal nectar)
      Be gently press’d by any but myself—
      Think, think Francesca, what a cursed thing
      It were beyond expression!

                                                                 J.

    Do write immediately. There is no Post from this Place, so
    you must address Post Office, Newport, Isle of Wight. I know
    before night I shall curse myself for having sent you so cold
    a Letter; yet it is better to do it as much in my senses as
    possible. Be as kind as the distance will permit to your

                                                          J. KEATS.

    Present my Compliments to your mother, my love to Margaret[26]
    and best remembrances to your Brother—if you please so.


II.

                                                          July 8th.

                              [_Postmark_, Newport, 10 July, 1819.]

    My sweet Girl,

    Your Letter gave me more delight than any thing in the world
    but yourself could do; indeed I am almost astonished that any
    absent one should have that luxurious power over my senses
    which I feel. Even when I am not thinking of you I receive
    your influence and a tenderer nature stealing upon me. All my
    thoughts, my unhappiest days and nights, have I find not at all
    cured me of my love of Beauty, but made it so intense that I am
    miserable that you are not with me: or rather breathe in that
    dull sort of patience that cannot be called Life. I never knew
    before, what such a love as you have made me feel, was; I did
    not believe in it; my Fancy was afraid of it, lest it should
    burn me up. But if you will fully love me, though there may be
    some fire, ’twill not be more than we can bear when moistened
    and bedewed with Pleasures. You mention ‘horrid people’ and
    ask me whether it depend upon them whether I see you again.
    Do understand me, my love, in this. I have so much of you in
    my heart that I must turn Mentor when I see a chance of harm
    befalling you. I would never see any thing but Pleasure in
    your eyes, love on your lips, and Happiness in your steps. I
    would wish to see you among those amusements suitable to your
    inclinations and spirits; so that our loves might be a delight
    in the midst of Pleasures agreeable enough, rather than a
    resource from vexations and cares. But I doubt much, in case
    of the worst, whether I shall be philosopher enough to follow
    my own Lessons: if I saw my resolution give you a pain I could
    not. Why may I not speak of your Beauty, since without that I
    could never have lov’d you?—I cannot conceive any beginning
    of such love as I have for you but Beauty. There may be a sort
    of love for which, without the least sneer at it, I have the
    highest respect and can admire it in others: but it has not the

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Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne: Written in the years MDCCCXIX and MDCCCXX and now given from the original manuscripts

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