Sylvia Plath was not the only poet born under Scorpio to be drawn to death's glamour (see my previous post).
Here is an extract from Ode To A Nightingale by John Keats (born October 30).
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call’d him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Like Plath, Keats was dead before turning 30.
For the complete poem click here.