For soon it was seen that his health had gone and that his
life's work was done. As a last hope his friends advised him to
spend the winter in Italy. So with a friend he set out. He
never returned, but died in Rome in the arms of his friend on the
23rd February 1821. He was only twenty-six. Before he died he
asked that on his grave should be placed the words, "Here lies
one whose name was writ in water." He had his wish: but we, to
whom he left his poetry, know that his name is written in the
stars.
How Shelley mourned for him you have read. How the friends who
knew and loved him mourned we learn from what they say of him.
"I cannot afford to lose him," wrote one. "If I know what it is
to love, I truly love John Keats." Another says,* "He was the
most unselfish of human creatures," and still another,** "a
sweeter tempered man I never knew."
*Haydon.
**Bailey.
In a letter which reached Rome too late was this message for
Keats, "Tell that great poet and noble-hearted man that we shall
all bear his memory in the most precious parts of our hearts, and
that the world shall bow their heads to it, as our loves do.
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