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John KeatsthConsiderAn Ode on Melancholy2 But when the melancholy fit shall fall Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, and hides the green hill in an April shroud; Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose, or on the rainbow of the salt-sand wave, or on the wealth of globed peonies; Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows, emprison her soft hand and let her rave, and feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.
3Consider:On the Death of KeatsConsider: Look up the treatment Logan mentions: drinking your own blood: what was the purpose of this? Try writing your own poem in which you imagine what it is like to be a doctor who suffers a particular medical condition.
There is a lot of literature about tuberculosis. Next year we will look at The Magic Mountain, the novel that confirmed Thomas Mann for the Nobel Prize. References and further reading updated: 22/03/2010 |
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