when-i-have-fears-that-i-will-cease-to-be

I find John Keats (1795-1821) an intoxicating poet. Reading his poems is to drink a “beaker full of the warm South,          Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,                 With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,                         And purple-stained mouth.” I studied The Eve of St Agnes at school, find it the sexiest of…