Seek John Keats' works and writing characteristics, as well as his love with Fanny.

John keats (1795- 182 1) was born in London at the end of 18. He is one of the outstanding English poetry writers and a major member of the Romantic School. Keats is brilliant in poetry, so are Shelley and Byron. He is only 25 years old, but his poems are world-renowned. He is regarded as a perfect embodiment of the characteristics of western romantic poetry and an outstanding representative of the European romantic movement. Representative works include Imitation of Spencer, Isabella, The Night Before St. Yanni, Xu Peilian, Ode to a Nightingale, Ode to an Ancient Greek Urn and Ode to Autumn. Keats' former residence, near Ted Park in Hampus, north London, is a quite quiet residential area. Keats has only lived here for 18 months, and Keats' former residence is gone, but it was in this 18 month that the British romantic poet reached the peak of his creation, because here he met the love of his life-Fanny Brown. The administrator of Keats' former residence vividly told us the story of this great poet's short life. The rich baritone described the poet's love for his lover as "just wanting to have it", which moved our listeners. "1In the early spring of 820, Keats went to London. He didn't wear a coat that day When he came back, in order to save money, he sat outside the carriage and was soaked in the rain. When he got home, his lover Fanny opened the door for him, and he almost jumped into Fanny's arms. That night, he began to cough up blood (Keats nursed his mother with tuberculosis in his early years, and later his brother died of tuberculosis in his arms). He knew what was wrong with him and never let Fanny near him again. He sits by the window every day and watches Fanny playing in the yard. He writes to Fanny every day, although she lives next door. In autumn, the doctor suggested that he must live in a warmer place. Accompanied by his friends, he came to Rome. Keats died in Rome in February. Fanny was heartbroken when the news came back to London. She was only 19 years old at that time. She mourned for Keats for seven years and wore the engagement ring that Keats gave her until her death. This house can make future generations mourn and remember the past. The City of London owns the house at 1997. At that time, the house was in disrepair, and the whole second floor was about to collapse. Only five people could go upstairs. The city spent 500,000 pounds to reinforce the structure of the building. This year, they got another 500,000 pounds from the Cultural Heritage Lottery Fund and will start renovating the interior of the building. To this end, they have done a lot of research work, including finding all the descriptions about the house from Keats' poems and a lot of letters, including the color of the walls, the pattern of carpets, the plants in the garden and so on. From this year 1 65438+1October1,Keats' former residence will be closed for renovation for one year. I hope the house will welcome people with a brand-new or more "original" look on the poet's birthday anniversary next year, 65438+1October 3 1. He advocated that "beauty is truth and truth is beauty". He is good at describing the appearance of natural scenery and things, expressing the color sense and three-dimensional sense of scenery, attaching importance to writing skills and pursuing gorgeous language, which has a great influence on the creation of lyric poems in later generations. The nightingale praised john keats. My heart hurts, and I feel sleepy and numb. It's like drinking poisonous pigeons or just swallowing opium So I sank into Leeds: it's not that I am jealous of your good luck, but that your happiness makes me too happy-because in the bright world of the forest, you, the light-winged fairy, hide in the lush green and shadow of beeches, open your voice and sing summer. Hey, if there's a sip of wine! The mellow drinks that have been refrigerated underground for many years remind people of green fields, flower gods, love songs, sunshine and dancing! If there is a bright red cup full of southern warmth, the pearl foam will go out along the edge of the cup and the lips will be stained with purple spots; Oh, I'm going to die in one breath and disappear with you in the dark forest: far away, far away, let me forget everything you didn't know among the leaves, forget this tired, feverish and anxious world, and make people sit with a sigh; Here, youth is pale, haggard and dead, while "paralysis" has a few white hairs swaying; Here, a little thinking is full of sadness and gray despair, but "beauty" can't keep the brilliance of bright eyes, and new love will wither before tomorrow. Let's go Let's go I want to fly to you instead of sitting in a leopard's car with Dionysus. I want to spread my invisible wings at the end of the poem, although my mind is tired and tired; Let's go Oh, I went with you! The night is so gentle, she is guarded by a group of stars on the throne after the month; But it's not very bright here, except for a ray of sky light carried by the breeze, lush darkness and moss winding paths. I can't see what flowers are at my feet and what incense is hanging on the branches; In the warm darkness, I can only guess that this fruit tree, Lin Mang, and grass, this bitter orange blossom, and the roses in the field, the violets that are easy to thank in the green leaves, and the pampering in mid-May, which is full of musk roses and dew, have become a harbor where mosquitoes wander in summer nights. I listened in the dark: oh, how many times I almost fell in love with quiet death, I exhausted the good words in poetry and begged him to disperse my breath into the air; And now, oh, how rich death is: the soul dies in the middle of the night, when you are pouring out your heart and giving out such ecstasy! You can still sing, but I can't hear it anymore-your corona can only sing to the mud and grass. Fairy bird, you won't die! Hungry generations can't trample on you; Tonight, the songs I overheard once delighted the ancient emperors and villagers. Perhaps the same song once stirred Ruth's melancholy heart and made her cry, standing in a foreign grain field and missing her hometown; It is this sound that often stirs the window sash of the lost fairy land: a beautiful woman looks at the sinister waves of the sea. Oh, I lost it! This sentence is like a bell, waking me up to where I am standing! Farewell! Fantasy, such a deceptive demon boy, can't always play tricks on it. Farewell! Farewell! Your complaining song flows through the lawn, through the quiet stream and up the hillside; At this time, it is buried in a nearby valley: hey, is this an illusion or a dream? The song has gone:-Am I sleeping? Is it awake?