Quote

You speak of Lord Byron and me there is this great difference between us. He describes what he sees I describe what I imagine. Mine is the hardest task.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Mine
Byron
Difference
Describes
Differences
Describe
Imagine
Task
Lord
Sees
Speak
Hardest
Great
Tasks
Mines

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Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter therefore, ye soft pipes, play on Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone.
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How sad it is when a luxurious imagination is obliged in self defense to deaden its delicacy in vulgarity, and riot in things attainable that it may not have leisure to go mad after things that are not.
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Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not
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As the Swiss inscription says: Sprechen ist silbern, Schweigen ist golden,- Speech is silvern, Silence is golden or, as I might rather express it, Speech is of Time, Silence is of Eternity.
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The poetry of earth is never dead When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide I cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead.
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Open afresh your rounds of starry folds, Ye ardent Marigolds.
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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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Love in a hut, with water and a crust, Is - Love, forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.
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And shade the violets, That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.
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A moment's thought is passion's passing knell.
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Parting they seemed to tread upon the air, Twin roses by the zephyr blown apart Only to meet again more close.
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What is there in thee, Moon! That thou should'st move My heart so potently?
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There is an awful warmth about my heart like a load of immortality.
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Load every rift with ore.
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She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around.
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There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.
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It ought to come like the leaves to the trees, or it better not come at all.
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A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
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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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An extensive knowledge is needful to thinking people-it takes away the heat and fever and helps, by widening speculation, to ease the burden of the mystery.
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