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The poetry of the earth is never dead.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Never
Garden
Life
Poetry
Dead
Environment
Natural
Inspirational
Nature
Earth
Gardening

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There is an electric fire in human nature tending to purify - so that among these human creatures there is continually some birth of new heroism. The pity is that we must wonder at it, as we should at finding a pearl in rubbish.
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When I have fears that I may ceace to be, Before my pen has gleaned my teaming brain.
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With a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration.
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The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
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Talking of Pleasure, this moment I was writing with one hand, and with the other holding to my Mouth a Nectarine - how good how fine. It went down all pulpy, slushy, oozy, all its delicious embonpoint melted down my throat like a large, beatified Strawberry.
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Nothing is finer for the purposes of great productions than a very gradual ripening of the intellectual powers.
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Blessed is the healthy nature it is the coherent, sweetly co-operative, not incoherent, self-distracting, self-destructive one!
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My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains/ My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk.
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I have loved the principle of beauty in all things.
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When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, Beauty is truth, truth beauty, - that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
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The excellence of every Art is its intensity.
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Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by? ---On death
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I don't need the stars in the night I found my treasure All I need is you by my side so shine forever
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Knowledge enormous makes a God of me. Names, deeds, gray legends, dire events, rebellions, Majesties, sovran voices, agonies, Creations and destroyings, all at once Pour into the wide hollows of my brain, And deify me, as if some blithe wine Or bright elixir peerless I had drunk, And so become immortal.
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I love your hills and I love your dales, And I love your flocks a-bleating but oh, on the heather to lie together, With both our hearts a-beating!
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I myself am pursuing the same instinctive course as the veriest human animal you can think of I am, however young, writing at random straining at particles of light in the midst of a great darkness without knowing the bearing of any one assertion, of any one opinion. Yet may I not in this be free from sin?
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Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time.
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No stir of air was there, Not so much life as on a summer's day Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass, But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.
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O latest born and loveliest vision far of all Olympus' faded hierarchy.
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Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.
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