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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

enough for silken Phrases, and silver sentences. I can no more
    use soothing words to you than if I were at this moment engaged
    in a charge of Cavalry. Then you will say I should not write at
    all.—Should I not? This Winchester is a fine place: a beautiful
    Cathedral and many other ancient buildings in the Environs.
    The little coffin of a room at Shanklin is changed for a large
    room, where I can promenade at my pleasure—looks out onto a
    beautiful—blank side of a house. It is strange I should like it
    better than the view of the sea from our window at Shanklin. I
    began to hate the very posts there—the voice of the old Lady
    over the way was getting a great Plague. The Fisherman’s face
    never altered any more than our black teapot—the knob however
    was knock’d off to my little relief. I am getting a great
    dislike of the picturesque; and can only relish it over again
    by seeing you enjoy it. One of the pleasantest things I have
    seen lately was at Cowes. The Regent in his Yatch[34] (I think
    they spell it) was anchored opposite—a beautiful vessel—and all
    the Yatchs and boats on the coast were passing and repassing
    it; and circuiting and tacking about it in every direction—I
    never beheld anything so silent, light, and graceful.—As we
    pass’d over to Southampton, there was nearly an accident.
    There came by a Boat well mann’d, with two naval officers at
    the stern. Our Bow-lines took the top of their little mast
    and snapped it off close by the board. Had the mast been a
    little stouter they would have been upset. In so trifling an
    event I could not help admiring our seamen—neither officer nor
    man in the whole Boat moved a muscle—they scarcely notic’d it
    even with words. Forgive me for this flint-worded Letter, and
    believe and see that I cannot think of you without some sort of
    energy—though mal à propos. Even as I leave off it seems to me
    that a few more moments’ thought of you would uncrystallize and
    dissolve me. I must not give way to it—but turn to my writing
    again—if I fail I shall die hard. O my love, your lips are
    growing sweet again to my fancy—I must forget them. Ever your
    affectionate

                                                             KEATS.


VI.

                                     Fleet Street,[35] Monday Morn.

                  [_Postmark_, Lombard Street, 14 September, 1819.]

    My dear Girl,

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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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