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dce3883
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A thing of beauty is a joy for ever
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inspirational
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John Keats |
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7e9b178
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Here lies one whose name was writ on water.
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lasting-words
inspirational
tombstone-inscription
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John Keats |
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9941c1e
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My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thy happiness,--- That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
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John Keats |
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2102aa8
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Robin Hood. To a Friend. No! those days are gone away, And their hours are old and gray, And their minutes buried all Under the down-trodden pall Ofthe leaves of many years: Many times have winter's shears, Frozen North, and chilling East, Sounded tempests to the feast Of the forest's whispering fleeces, Since men knew nor rent nor leases. No, the bugle sounds no more, And the twanging bow no more; Silent is the ivory shrill Past the heath..
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John Keats |
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cbba2b5
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Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? Heard melodies are swee..
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John Keats |
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7925f96
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But this is human life: the war, the deeds, The disappointment, the anxiety, Imagination's struggles, far and nigh, All human; bearing in themselves this good, That they are still the air, the subtle food, To make us feel existence.
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soul
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John Keats |
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e75937e
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Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong,And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song.
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John Keats |
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63a7964
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Here lies one whose name was writ in water.
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John Keats |
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207f5cc
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My chest of books divide amongst my friends.
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John Keats |
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b3a9e5d
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The sweet converse of an innocent mind.
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John Keats |
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24a70cc
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The imagination may be compared to Adam's dream -- he awoke and found it truth.
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John Keats |
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5c50226
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O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts!
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John Keats |
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71bec72
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They will explain themselves -- as all poems should do without any comment.
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John Keats |
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1036401
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Works of genius are the first things in this world.
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John Keats |
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0985ab2
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Scenery is fine -- but human nature is finer.
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John Keats |
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4e77b4a
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Every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer.
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John Keats |
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29148b9
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There is an awful warmth about my heart like a load of immortality.
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John Keats |
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01a1d86
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I think I shall be among the English Poets after my death.
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John Keats |
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c6913bb
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Call the world if you please "The vale of soul-making."
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John Keats |
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1fedc32
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I have nothing to speak of but my self-and what can I say but what I feel
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John Keats |
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1cd56da
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I can scarcely bid you good-bye, even in a letter. I always made an awkward bow. God bless you!
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John Keats |
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7553a07
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Open afresh your round of starry folds,Ye ardent marigolds!
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John Keats |
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a700ffc
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Woman! when I behold thee flippant, vain,Inconstant, childish, proud, and full of fancies.
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John Keats |
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64f999c
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E'en like the passage of an angel's tearThat falls through the clear ether silently.
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John Keats |
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1325db5
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The poetry of earth is never dead.
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John Keats |
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c7f6898
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Time, that aged nurse,Rocked me to patience.
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John Keats |
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f7f95bf
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Pleasure is oft a visitant; but painClings cruelly to us.
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John Keats |
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ba08c73
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'Tis the pestOf love, that fairest joys give most unrest.
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John Keats |
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6e59f80
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So many, and so many, and such glee.
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John Keats |
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85707dc
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That large utterance of the early gods!
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John Keats |
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4300f0d
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The days of peace and slumberous calm are fled.
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John Keats |
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708e487
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Knowledge enormous makes a God of me.
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John Keats |
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5acf043
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Love in a hut, with water and a crust,Is -- Love, forgive us! -- cinders, ashes, dust.
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John Keats |
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11482ab
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For cruel 'tis," said she,"To steal my Basil-pot away from me."
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John Keats |
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3f0ed13
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So let me be thy choir, and make a moanUpon the midnight hours
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John Keats |
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a469cba
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Music's golden tongueFlatter'd to tears this aged man and poor.
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John Keats |
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a662ae8
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The silver snarling trumpets 'gan to chide.
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John Keats |
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c2d3d5b
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The music, yearning like a God in pain.
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John Keats |
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83feee1
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A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard thing.
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John Keats |
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63f844c
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As though a rose should shut and be a bud again.
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John Keats |
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b85cacf
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And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep,In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender'd.
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John Keats |
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7d3c7e1
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He play'd an ancient ditty long since mute,In Provence call'd "La belle dame sans mercy."
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John Keats |
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c3aa3fb
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And they are gone: ay, ages long agoThese lovers fled away into the storm.
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John Keats |
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1b30735
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Already with thee! tender is the night.
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John Keats |