Unappreciated????

(A portrait of English poet, John Keats, by William Hilton, 1822)

Before his early death at 25 from tuberculosis on February 23, 1821, English poet John Keats despaired that “I have left no immortal work behind me . . . If I had time, I would have made myself remembered.” Suffering from ill health and mocked by critics, he could not imagine the fame and adulation that has preserved his memory for two hundred years. Buried in the Protestant Cemetery in Rome, his immortal words still echo in the hearts of young poets, and visitors still flock to see his simple grave.

(Photo by Vova Pomortzeff)

I can’t help thinking what a tragedy it was that such a brilliant young poet was not recognized in his own lifetime, however short. Keats died believing he was a failure. But this has happened to so many writers and artists! Why does it take the dark hand of Death to bring a great person’s talents to life? Are we all too blind and selfish to recognize them while they’re still alive? Or, must all great writers and artists pass the test of Time?

When I Have Fears That I May Cease to Be

by John Keats

When I have fears that I may cease to be

Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain,

Before high-piled books, in charactery,

Hold like rich garners the full ripen’d grain;

When I behold, upon the night’s starr’d face,

Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,

And think that I may never live to trace

Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;

And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,

That I shall never look upon thee more,

Never have relish in the faery power

Of unreflecting love; — then on the shore

Of the wide world I stand alone, and think

Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

Dawn Pisturino

February 17, 2022

Copyright 2022 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.

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