Any person will probably be able to tell you they’ve had an idea for a story, perhaps in the form of a poem, a screenplay or theatre script, that has been nestled in their mind for years, even decades. It’s evolved, it’s decayed, it’s been mentally tweaked and shaped by years of thinking. However, any person will also tell you they’ve not got round to penning it. We know we should, it could be the next best seller, it could bring joy, entertainment and hope to others, but we’ll never know until it’s down on paper.

John Keats, in the title poem, is like most writers. He yearns to write everything down, all of his ideas, all of his thoughts, to reach success before he dies. Of course, Keats had every reason to fear an early death, losing both of his parents at a relatively young age and his younger brother, too.