Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul


John Keats

A Letter to Fanny Browne by John Keats

My dearest Girl,

This moment I have set myself to copy some verses out fair. I cannot proceed with any degree of content. I must write you a line or two and see if that will assist in dismissing you from my Mind for ever so short a time. Upon my Soul I can think of nothing else — The time is passed when I had power to advise and warn you against the unpromising morning of my Life — My love has made me selfish. I cannot exist without you — I am forgetful of every thing but seeing you again — my Life seems to stop there — I see no further. You have absorb’d me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving—I should be exquisitely miserable without the hope of soon seeing you. I should be afraid to separate myself far from you. My sweet Fanny, will your heart never change? My love, will it? I have no limit now to my love — Your note came in just here — I cannot be happier away from you — ’T is richer than an Argosy of Pearles. Do not threat me even in jest. I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion — I have shudder’d at it — I shudder no more. I could be martyr’d for my Religion — Love is my religion — I could die for that — I could die for you. My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet — You have ravish’d me away by a Power I cannot resist; and yet I could resist till I saw you; and even since I have seen you I have endeavoured often “to reason against the reasons of my Love.” I can do that no more — the pain would be too great — My Love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.

Yours for ever,

John Keats

One of my favorite poets and letter senders, John Keats, died on this day exactly 200 years ago. Sharing this extract from one of his sweetest and poignant letters to Fanny Browne, his betrothed.

Ah, so much love. 💛

Youthful Memories

I still have the love letters men, or perhaps boys, sent me in the past years. On some days, I read and laugh at these innocent displays but, on most days, they remain tucked in the bottom of my drawer.

It was back in high school when I first stumbled upon John Keats. Since then, my young heart have been and will always be envious of Fanny Brawne for having a man write to her with so much love and warmth.

I remember, once, a man said he’d write me a letter. I spent days and nights in anticipation but it never came. What happened in between that promise and my waiting, I do not know. Perhaps gone are the men like John Keats. Or maybe love just simply changed.

the moon casts its shine
upon the aged letters—
youthful memories

In response to dVerse’s Haibun Monday: Handwriting hosted by Kim.  🙂

Scanned image from Rebloggy. You can also find more of Keats’ letters here.

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