Further on, as if we had not already had enough of wine and its associations, the coming musk-rose is described as "full of dewy wine"--an expression of very dubious appositeness: and the like may be said of "become a sod," in the sense of "become a corpse--earth to earth." The renowned address-- "Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird! No hungry generations tread thee down," seems almost outside the region of criticism. Still, it is a palpable fact that this address, according to its place in the context, is a logical solecism. While "Youth grows pale and spectre-thin and dies," while the poet would "become a sod" to the requiem sung by the nightingale, the nightingale itself is pronounced immortal. But this antithesis cannot stand the test of a moment's reflection. Man, as a race, is as deathless, as superior to the tramp of hungry generations, as is the nightingale as a race: while the nightingale as an individual bird has a life not less fleeting, still more fleeting, than a man as an individual. We have now arrived at the last stanza of the ode. Here the term "deceiving elf," applied to "the fancy," sounds rather petty, and in the nature of a make-rhyme: but this may possibly be a prejudice. Having thus--in the interest of my reader as a critical appraiser of poetry--burned my fingers a little at the clear and perennial flame of the "Ode to a Nightingale," I shall quit that superb composition, and the whole quintett of odes, and shall proceed to other phases of my subject. The "Ode to Indolence," and the fragment of an "Ode to Maia," need not detain us; the former, however, is important as indicating a mood of mind--too vaguely open to the influences of the moment for either love, ambition, or poesy--to which we may well suppose that Keats was sufficiently prone. The few poems which remain to be mentioned were all printed posthumously. There are four addresses to Fanny Brawne, dating perhaps from early till late in 1819; two of them are irregular lyrics, and two sonnets. The best of the four is the sonnet, "The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone," which counts indeed among the better sonnets of Keats. Taken collectively, all four supply valuable evidence as to the poet's love affair, confirmatory of what appears in his letters; they exhibit him quelled by the thought of his mistress and her charms, and jealous of her mixing in or enjoying the company of others.