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John Keats, prosaic lass, a romantic poet, a completely obsessed queer queen to poesy form of English Literature who gave up her medicine in the tremendous passion and the reverent obsession of the poetry and eventually kicked the bucket on the corollary of the tuberculosis at Italy in 1821.

Ever since the drizzling droplets of the prose perspective; including articles, papers, stories and novels, has been falling on the sharpened blades of the public speculation toward the English Literature, the entire language; its elements all and sundry, bore the witness that it paved a misguided way for poetry to be nonchalantly faded away from the minds and further created unintentionally an atmosphere of almost losing it in the fresh pages of modern era.

Gee! Rather than the notions showed the countenance brimmed with zeal and zest to the indispensible legacy of poetry, the people defenestrated at the brink of the live-or-die sitch. The workaholic poets are paranoid to be more blue-on-blue coming across a lot of floccinaucinihilipilifications by the clumsy-oafish people. By no means, it means that they received the ill fortune even after the whacking stab bash as the claim is the complete vague panglossian. The microsmatic of the serendipity and the aura of agastopia established by the poet is astronomically awesome sauce. It’s all apropos the boons of the essence paid by them which ensure the comprehensive assay and fruitful out turns.

As a colossal backwash, the golden history pages of William Shakespeare uttered an upshot to the entire cluster of more than 100 poems in the poesy form of sonnets as ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’ and ‘My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun’ are just some of the instances. As a gigantic aftermath, he is considered as the father of the English Poetry.

Treading the steps, Robert Frost won the Pulitzer Prizes four times consequently seized the slot of diminution and dwindling of prose securing Congressional Gold Medal for poetry in 1962. Eventually, busting the guts of Emily Dickinson paid off after the demise as a zenith of zephyr counting to 1,800 poems discovered which were stitched to the packets then published according to her masterpiece poem ‘Because I couldn’t stop after death’.

Since our existence as intelligent species, the recent Maya Angelou who wrote ‘Cages Bird’ and ‘Still I rise’ passed away in 2014, the best female poet, the recipient of Presidential Medal of Freedom in 2010 and Pulitzer Prize nominee in 1972. The benediction given to the bloke, how can he disappear from the intelligences? The Nobel Prize winner in literature in 1923 for some of his masterpiece poems; ‘The Second Coming’ and ‘Sailing to Byzantine’, the one and only Irish poet William Butler Yeats born in 1865.

The pangs of agony, blared the wail by a romantic poet, has been gradually vanishing from being firmly in the focal point, a poet who confer about the tryst and rendezvous, the zilch to vie and compete this obsessed queer queen who gave up her medicine in the tremendous passion and the reverent obsession of the poetry and kicked the bucket on the corollary of the tuberculosis at Italy in 1821, John Keats, the one who vindicated the prompt and swift qualm of the gloomy hodge-podge being a simple prosaic lass.

Seldom strive to forget Pablo Neruda, the Nobel Prize winner in literature in 1971 for the work of ‘Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair’, along with Sylvia Path who being an American in 1982 won the Pulitzer Prize for poetry. It’s out of question to opt as vile the epics of Homer, the most famous ‘The Odyssey’ a journey of ten years travelling from the home to Trojan War. Not alone, but with the masterpiece poems by Edgar Allan Poe such like ‘The Raven’ and ‘Annerel Lee’

A stab born bod but an ill fortune of homosexuality, William Wordsworth was brimmed with plenty of quickened quenching ability to the spanned thirst of the readers as the quash of his regulations is out of question who vowed to zero drawback, the poles apart from topsy-down, no hue and cry at any cost, the one who was appointed as the Poet Laureate of England in 1843 for the outstanding and marvelous poems as ‘I Wander Lovely as a Cloud’ and ‘The World is too much with us’.

The world, as the eon lapsed flash by flash and the era elapsed jiffy by jiffy, goes astray from the staid orthodox and stereotyped traditions of their ancient forefathers, no matter in whatever genre it would be; say the science or utter the arts inclusively, the poetry takes its own part there in it. Through the modernization, the structure is increasing becoming dynamic as for a pen from the fur and ink to ball and fountain till digital typing but the intension of establishing the renaissance through it and the aura of agastopia towards the norms and values should be conserved as the first priority and focal precedence.

The offspring of the contemporary generation is supposed to be the same; to forget the history of ours, if we couldn’t convert our cultures to be well-looked-after. The digitalization is the first way toward that, the firsthand books and novels are substituting the traditions books which boosted the courage and ensured the social solidarity or cohesion in the profound of the hearts for according to the Ibn Khaldun, the cohesion is the most authoritative factor to develop just like the tribes having it. There is a contradiction in the intelligence to up-to-date generation who wants to develop and advance while they are in the lack of core object of it which is the cohesion and the social solidarity.

In a very vivid and lucid way, whilst I elaborated and explicated the oddities and peculiarities of the poets above as William Shakespeare, Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, Maya Angelou, William Butler Yeats, John Keats, Edgar Allan Poe, and William Wordsworth, hitherto it clangs once and dings again as the incredible and the insane art and philosophy, the chart busters, the glimmer shimmer, and the beaming gleaming vibrant in the poetry and poesy are being faded away from the minds. So, I intensely endeavoured to revive the lost legacy of Poetry.

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