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Sonnet VIII: To My Brothers

By John Keats

Topics: classic

Small, busy flames play through the fresh laid coals,     And their faint cracklings o'er our silence creep     Like whispers of the household gods that keep     A gentle empire o'er fraternal souls.     And while, for rhymes, I search around the poles,     Your eyes are fix d, as in poetic sleep,     Upon the lore so voluble and deep,     That aye at fall of night our care condoles.     This is your birth-day Tom, and I rejoice     That thus it passes smoothly, quietly.     Many such eves of gently whisp'ring noise     May we together pass, and calmly try     What are this world s true joys, ere the great voice,     From its fair face, shall bid our spirits fly.

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"Small, busy flames play through the fresh laid coals,..."

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Author:John Keats

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"Small, busy flames play through the fresh laid coa..." by John Keats

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"The Text is taken from Percy's Reliques (1765), vol. i. p. 71, 'given from two MS. copies, transmitted from Scotland.' Herd had a very similar bal"

John Keats

About John Keats

John Keats (1795–1821) was an English Romantic poet whose odes—"Ode to a Nightingale," "Ode on a Grecian Urn," "To Autumn"—are among the most celebrated in the language. Despite dying of tuberculosis at 25, he produced work of extraordinary sensory richness and philosophical depth.

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