Appendix 1: Thomas Hall Caine, ‘John Keats’ 1 When Death glides gently in a holy sleep 2 On some dear nursling of first infant years, 3 Not for the future lost, are then our tears, 4 Only the sadden’d present bids us weep: 5 The tender child, with sunny eyes and deep, 6 And budding love, and sweetness that endears, 7 And silver voice whose tone affrays our ears – 8 This is the idol in our hearts we keep. 9 And shall we mourn, thou Poet of the flowers, 10 That daisies bloom’d above thee ere the hours 11 Of perfect fruitage brought thy riper parts? 12 Ah lo! thy orient muse of life bereft 13 Dying, the immortal youth of genius left 14 A deathless memory in our heart of hearts. 146 Appendix 2: Robert Browning, ‘Popularity’ I 1 Stand still, true poet that you are! 2 I know you; let me try and draw you. 3 Some night you’ll fail us: when afar 4 You rise, remember one man saw you, 5 Knew you, and named a star! II 6 My star, God’s glow-worm! Why extend 7 That loving hand of his which leads you, 8 Yet locks you safe from end to end 9 Of this dark world, unless he needs you, 10 Just saves your light to spend? III 11 His clenched hand shall unclose at last, 12 I know, and let out all the beauty: 13 My poet holds the future fast, 14 Accepts the coming ages’ duty, 15 Their present for this past. IV 16 That day, the earth’s feast-master’s brow 17 Shall clear, to God the chalice raising; 18 ‘Others give best at first, but thou 19 ‘Forever set’st our table praising, 20 ‘Keep’st the good wine till now!’ 147 148 Appendix 2 V 21 Meantime, I’ll draw you as you stand, 22 With few or none to watch and wonder: 23 I’ll say – a fisher, on the sand 24 By Tyre the old, with ocean-plunder, 25 A netful, brought to land. VI 26 Who has not heard how Tyrian shells 27 Enclosed the blue, that dye of dyes 28 Whereof one drop worked miracles, 29 And coloured like Astarte’s eyes 30 Raw silk the merchant sells? VII 31 And each bystander of them all 32 Could criticize, and quote tradition 33 How depths of blue sublimed some pall 34 – To get which, pricked a king’s ambition; 35 Worth sceptre, crown and ball. VIII 36 Yet there’s the dye, in that rough mesh, 37 The sea has only just o’erwhispered! 38 Live whelks, each lip’s beard dripping fresh, 39 As if they still the water’s lisp heard 40 Through foam the rock-weeds thresh. IX 41 Enough to furnish Solomon 42 Such hangings for his cedar-house, 43 That, when gold-robed he took the throne 44 In that abyss of blue, the Spouse 45 Might swear his presence shone X 46 Most like the centre-spike of gold 47 Which burns deep in the blue-bell’s womb, Appendix 2 149 48 What time, with ardours manifold, 49 The bee goes singing to her groom, 50 Drunken and overbold. XI 51 Mere conchs! not fit for warp or woof! 52 Till cunning come to pound and squeeze 53 And clarify, – refine to proof 54 The liquor filtered by degrees, 55 While the world stands aloof. XII 56 And there’s the extract, flasked and fine, 57 And priced and saleable at last! 58 And Hobbs, Nobbs, Stokes and Nokes combine 59 To paint the future from the past, 60 Put blue into their line. XIII 61 Hobbs hints blue, – straight he turtle eats: 62 Nobbs prints blue, – claret crowns his cup: 63 Nokes outdares Stokes in azure feats, – 64 Both gorge. Who fished the murex up? 65 What porridge had John Keats? Appendix 3: Christina Rossetti, ‘On Keats’ 1 A garden in a garden: a green spot 2 Where all is green: most fitting slumber-place 3 For the strong man grown weary of a race 4 Soon over. Unto him a goodly lot 5 Hath fallen in fertile ground; there thorns are not, 6 But his own daisies: silence, full of grace, 7 Surely hath shed a quiet on his face: 8 His earth is but sweet leaves that fall and rot. 9 What was his record of himself, ere he 10 Went from us? Here lies one whose name was writ 11 In water: while the chilly shadows flit 12 Of sweet Saint Agnes’ Eve; while basil springs, 13 His name, in every humble heart that sings, 14 Shall be a fountain of love, verily. 150 Appendix 4: Alice Meynell, ‘On Keats’s Grave’ He said that the greatest delight of his life had been to watch the growth of flowers. And when dying ‘I feel them growing over me.’ 1 They waited not for showers 2 But made a garden in the dark above him, 3 – Stayed not for the summer, growing things that love him. 4 Beyond the light, beyond the hours, 5 Behind the wind, where Nature thinks the flowers, 6 He entered in his dying wandering. 7 And daisies infantine were thoughts of his, 8 And different grasses solved his mysteries. 9 He lived in flowers a snatch of spring, 10 And had a dying longing that uncloses 11 In wild white roses. 12 Down from the low hills dark with pines 13 Into the fields at rest, the summer done, 14 I went by pensive ways of tombs and vines 15 To where the place I dream of is; 16 And in a stretch of meditative sun 17 Cloven by the dark flames of cypresses 18 Came to the small grave of my ended poet. 19 – I had felt wild things many a dreamy hour 20 Pushing above him from beyond the sea, 21 But when I saw it 22 It chanced there was no flower, 23 And that was, too, a silent time for me. 24 O life of blossoms – Proserpine! 25 O time of flowers where art thou now, 26 And in what darkness movest thou? 27 In the lost heart of this quiet poet of mine 28 So well-contented with his growth of flowers? 29 Beyond the suns and showers 30 Stirrest thou in a silence that begets 31 The exquisite thought, the tuneful rhyme – 32 The first intention of the violets, 33 And the beginnings of the warm wild-thyme? 34 Indeed the poets do know 151 152 Appendix 4 35 A place of thoughts where no winds blow, 36 And not a breath is sighing, 37 Beyond the light, beyond the hours, 38 Where all a summer of enchanted flowers 39 Do mark his place, his dying. 40 Sweet life, and is it there thy sceptre passes 41 On long arrays of flowering grasses 42 And rows of crimson clover? 43 Are these the shades thou reignest over? 44 Come ere the year forgets 45 The summer her long lover. 46 O Proserpine, November violets! 47 – Where art thou now? 48 And in what darkness movest thou 49 Who art in life the life of melodies? 50 Within the silent living poet’s heart 51 Where no song is, 52 Where, every one apart, 53 Arrays of the morn fancies err 54 Vaguer than pain in sleep, vaguer than pain, 55 And no winds stir;- 56 Over these shadows dost thou reign? 57 See now, in this still day 58 All winds are strayed and lost, wandered away, 59 Everywhere from Soracte to the sea. 60 All singing things muse in the sun, 61 And trees of fragrant leaves do happily 62 Meditate in their sweet scents every one, 63 The paeans done. 64 All olives turn and dream in grey at ease, 65 Left by the silver breeze. 66 Long smiles have followed the peal of mirth. 67 – But silence has no place for me, 68 A silent singer on earth. 69 Awake! 70 And thro’ the sleeping season break, 71 With young new shoots for this young poet’s sake, 72 With singing lives for all these dreams of mine, 73 O darkened Proserpine! 74 Out of the small grave and the thoughts I love 75 Stir thou in me and move, 76 If haply a song of mine may seem a dim 77 Sweet flower grown over him. 78 Oh come from underground and be 79 Flowers for my young dear poet and songs for me. Appendix 5: A. C. Swinburne, ‘In Sepulcretis’ I 1 It is not then enough that men who give 2 The best gifts given of man to man should feel, 3 Alive, a snake’s head ever at their heel: 4 Small hurt the worms may do them while they live – 5 Such hurt as scorn for scorn’s sake may forgive. 6 But now, when death and fame have set one seal 7 On tombs whereat Love, Grief, and Glory kneel, 8 Men sift all secrets, in their critic sieve, 9 Of graves wherein the dust of death might shrink 10 To know what tongues defile the dead man’s name 11 With loathsome Love, and probe that stings like shame. 12 Rest once was theirs, who had crossed to mortal brink: 13 No rest, no reverence now: dull fools undress 14 Death’s holiest shrine, life’s veriest nakedness. II 15 A man was born, sang, suffered, loved, and died.