Keats knows his business. If the primary goal of poetry is to strike to the heart of things succinctly, Keats nails it. This poem, for instance, tells a complete story in three stanzas of eight lines each. He wastes nothing, but doesn’t sound sparse. He maintains a sumptuous, bittersweet atmosphere without bloating, and without sounding snooty. These few, achingly simple lines at the end are especially beautiful:<\/p>\n
I will find out where she has gone,
\nAnd kiss her lips and take her hands;
\nAnd walk among long dappled grass,
\nAnd pluck till time and times are done,
\nThe silver apples of the moon,
\nThe golden apples of the sun.<\/p><\/blockquote>\nThe last line of the poem has inspired several other works; most notably: one of Ray Bradbury’s short story collections, which itself inspired an album by Devendra Banhart. The more I read, the more I see chains—or, more accurately, webs—of influence form and jump from artist to artist, even and sometimes especially across media.<\/p>\n