THE FLOWER OF THE MIND
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literature: the "little town," the "peaceful citadel,"--were ever
simple adjectives more happy? But John Keats's final moral here is
undeniably a failure; it says so much and means so little. The Ode
to Autumn is an exterior ode, and not in so high a rank, but lovely
and perfect. The Psyche I love the least, because its fancy is
rather weak and its sentiment effusive. It has a touch of the
deadly sickliness of Endymion. None the less does it remain just
within the group of the really fine odes of English poets. The
eloquent Melancholy more narrowly escapes exclusion from that
group.