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As the resident artist at EcoHealth, my verse these days finds inspiration in the specter of future pandemics; for my dissertation at Amerika-Institut of LMU München, where I edit a weekly circular of U.S. poetry, I'm anatomizing the prosody of E. A. Robinson's sonnets—I also teach English and tutor composition.

20170714

Sonnet to Chatterton

by John Keats

O Chatterton! how very sad thy fate! 
Dear child of sorrow—son of misery! 
How soon the film of death obscur'd that eye, 
Whence Genius mildly flash'd, and high debate. 
How soon that voice, majestic and elate, 
Melted in dying numbers! Oh! how nigh 
Was night to thy fair morning. Thou didst die 
A half-blown flow'ret which cold blasts amate. 
But this is past: thou art among the stars 
Of highest Heaven: to the rolling spheres 
Thou sweetly singest: naught thy hymning mars, 
Above the ingrate world and human fears. 
On earth the good man base detraction bars 
From thy fair name, and waters it with tears.  


Note: A recitation can be heard here.

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