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I met a lady in the meads,Full beautiful - a faery's child,Her hair was long, her foot was light,And her eyes were wild.
John Keats -
In drear-nighted December,Too happy, happy tree,Thy branches ne'er rememberTheir green felicity.
John Keats
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I think I shall be among the English Poets after my death.
John Keats -
Why, you might read two sonnets, ere they reachTo where the hurrying freshnesses aye preachA natural sermon o’er their pebbly beds;Where swarms of minnows show their little heads,Staying their wavy bodies ’gainst the streams,To taste the luxury of sunny beamsTemper’d with coolness.
John Keats -
Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose,Flushing his brow, and in his pained heartMade purple riot.
John Keats -
Now a soft kiss - Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.
John Keats -
And then there creptA little noiseless noise among the leaves,Born of the very sigh that silence heaves.
John Keats -
To his sightThe husk of natural objects opens quiteTo the core; and every secret essence thereReveals the elements of good and fair;Making him see, where Learning hath no light.
John Keats
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And they are gone: ay, ages long agoThese lovers fled away into the storm.
John Keats -
St. Agnes’ Eve - Ah, bitter chill it was!The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;The hare limp’d trembling through the frozen grass,And silent was the flock in woolly fold.
John Keats -
My spirit is too weak - mortalityWeighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep,And each imagin'd pinnacle and steepOf godlike hardship tells me I must dieLike a sick Eagle looking at the sky.
John Keats -
That large utterance of the early gods!
John Keats -
No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twistWolfs-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss’dBy nightshade.
John Keats -
What the imagination seizes as beauty must be truth.
John Keats
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The only means of strengthening one's intellect is to make up one's mind about nothing, to let the mind be a thoroughfare for all thoughts.
John Keats -
And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon.
John Keats -
Much have I traveled in the realms of gold, and many goodly states and kingdoms seen.
John Keats -
O, what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,Alone and palely loitering?The sedge has wither'd from the lake,And no birds sing.
John Keats -
I have nothing to speak of but my self-and what can I say but what I feel
John Keats -
Woman! when I behold thee flippant, vain,Inconstant, childish, proud, and full of fancies.
John Keats
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Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works.
John Keats -
A drainless showerOf light is poesy; ’tis the supreme of power;’Tis might half slumb’ring on its own right arm.
John Keats -
My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk.
John Keats