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Makes me want to read Keats's letters. Here's this, from one to his brother Tom in 1818 while he was touring Scotland, on the dancing he'd seen there:

"they kickit & jumpit with mettle extraordinary, & whiskit, & fleckit, & toe'd it, & go'd it, and twirld it, & wheel'd it, & stampt it, & sweated it, tattooing the floor like mad."

Lucasta Miller reads these nine poems in light of Keats's past experience as a doctor-in-training, ever after aware of the physicality of the human body, and sees in his preference for ambiguity (his "negative capability") a kinship with his hero Shakespeare. I love that his theories were so slapdash, on the fly and half-formed, and yet he explored them in poems we're still intrigued and enchanted by.