Written by John Keats in 1816 for his brother, George, as the title implies.
He was to remain Keats' closest friend until George left for America in 1818.
Structurally, this is a sort of bastardized Petrarchan sonnet. He ends with
a heroic couplet, as was common in Shakespearian and Spenserian sonnets, but was not
allowed in Petrarchan. By Keats' time this was not considered an error so much as an
innovation, and while traditionally it wasn't supposed to be done, there were many writers
who employed the heroic couplet thusly. His meter is strong and precise, except
for line ten, "Cynthia is from her silken curtains peeping," which for some reason has entirely too many syllables, no matter how
one pronounces the line.
To My Brother George
Many the wonders I this day have seen:
The sun, when first he kist away the tears
That fill'd the eyes of morn;--the laurel's peers
Who from the feathery gold of evening lean;--
The ocean with its vastness, its blue green,
Its ships, its rocks, its caves, its hope, its fears,--
Its voice mysterious, which whoso hears
Must think on what will be, and what has been.
E'en now, dear George, while this for you I write,
Cynthia is from her silken curtains peeping
So scantly, that it seems her bridal night,
And she her half-discover'd revels keeping.
But what, without the social thought of thee,
Would be the wonders of the sky and sea?