The Man Who Would Be Keats

The Man Who Would Be Keats

They'll say he wiggled and he squirmed

To know why he could never write

As well. His later verse confirmed

His gift had left, and left him night.

Each day new causes he'd deduce,

Until he sighed his gift was youth,

And only that, and called a truce.

For peace he thought that was the truth.

In later verse were lines of fire

That shot not through his early things.

To brilliance he did not aspire,

But just to pretty conjurings.

But Keats! Who set his soul aflame,

Hypnotized at 21.

His goal was set: to do the same

As Keats, could he as Keats had done?

He had more skill, he had more craft

Than Junkets' had in poetry.

Like a beggar on a raft

Who cuts the guy and drifts to sea,

He knew his verse would not exceed

Keats. Just crazy people try

To beat their gods. He chanced to read

That tract in some psychology.

Yet in his heart, beneath his brain,

He wondered where he floated to.
And if or no he was insane,

Beat Keats was what he wished to do.

Although in death he garners fame,

Renown that overtakes and beats

His hero, and a greater name,

His verse did not resemble Keats'