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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
Death
Minute
Two
Possession
Hour
Walking
Minutes
Brood
Walks
Luxuries
Literature
Loveliness
Hours
Luxury

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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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Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?
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I have good reason to be content, for thank God I can read and perhaps understand Shakespeare to his depths.
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No sooner had I stepp'd into these pleasures Than I began to think of rhymes and measures: The air that floated by me seem'd to say 'Write! thou wilt never have a better day.
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I have loved the principle of beauty in all things.
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O aching time! O moments big as years!
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Darkling I listen and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Called him soft names in many a muse' d rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy!
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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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Failure is, in a sense, the highway to success.
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A poet without love were a physical and metaphysical impossibility.
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Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips, bidding adieu
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Even bees, the little almsmen of spring bowers, know there is richest juice in poison-flowers.
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What shocks the virtuous philosopher, delights the chameleon poet.
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You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving.
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To feel forever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever-or else swoon in death.
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Let us away, my love, with happy speed There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, - Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead. Awake! arise! my love and fearless be, For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee.
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The opinion I have of the generality of women--who appear to me as children to whom I would rather give a sugar plum than my time, forms a barrier against matrimony which I rejoice in.
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I should write for the mere yearning and fondness I have for the beautiful, even if my night's labors should be burnt every morning and no eye shine upon them.
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There is nothing stable in the world uproar's your only music.
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O let me lead her gently o'er the brook, Watch her half-smiling lips and downward look O let me for one moment touch her wrist Let me one moment to her breathing list And as she leaves me, may she often turn Her fair eyes looking through her locks auburne.
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