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I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Minutes
Brood
Walks
Luxuries
Literature
Loveliness
Hours
Luxury
Death
Minute
Two
Possession
Hour
Walking

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The genius of Shakespeare was an innate university.
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My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk.
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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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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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Feeling well that breathed words Would all be lost, unheard, and vain as swords Against the enchased crocodile, or leaps Of grasshoppers against the sun.
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Dry your eyes O dry your eyes, For I was taught in Paradise To ease my breast of melodies.
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I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for their religion-- I have shuddered at it, I shudder no more. I could be martyred for my religion. Love is my religion and I could die for that. I could die for you. My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet.
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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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The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide.
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--then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
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... the open sky sits upon our senses like a sapphire crown - the Air is our robe of state - the Earth is our throne, and the Sea a mighty minstrel playing before it.
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I do think better of womankind than to suppose they care whether Mister John Keats five feet high likes them or not.
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All my clear-eyed fish, Golden, or rainbow-sided, or purplish, Vermilion-tail'd, or finn'd with silvery gauze... My charming rod, my potent river spells.
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The air is all softness.
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Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them thou has thy music too.
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So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries, She seem'd, at once, some penanced lady elf, Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self.
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Works of genius are the first things in the world.
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