To Fanny

I cry your mercy—pity—love!—aye, love!
Merciful love that tantalizes not,
One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love,
Unmasked, and being seen—without a blot!
O! let me have thee whole,—all—all—be mine!
That shape, that fairness, that sweet minor zest
Of love, your kiss,—those hands, those eyes divine,
That warm, white, lucent, million-pleasured breast,—
Yourself—your soul—in pity give me all,
Withhold no atom's atom or I die,
Or living on, perhaps, your wretched thrall,
Forget, in the mist of idle misery,
Life's purposes,—the palate of my mind
Losing its gust, and my ambition blind!

by John Keats

Comments (9)

My mother always called me Blot. I always believed she had little love for me but when I read this poem I felt uplifted. An interesting way to try to define love. Child or otherwise.
The man is grovelling and asking for pity. How pathetic.What woman could respect such a slug.
The linguistic vulgarity attributed to the lesser Keats is never more clear than here- confusion of intention the usual prompt of such a trait.. It's useful to re-read this really quite awful poem in that light. MM
Unmasked. A master piece.
Highly descriptive. A master's poem
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