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With a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Consideration
Overcoming
Poet
Beauty
Rather
Sense
Obliterates
Great
Overcomes
Every
Genocide

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I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too.
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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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Every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer.
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Even bees, the little almsmen of spring bowers, know there is richest juice in poison-flowers.
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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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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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Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop From low hung branches little space they stop But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek Then off at once, as in a wanton freak: Or perhaps, to show their black, and golden wings Pausing upon their yellow flutterings.
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Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams The summer time away.
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Works of genius are the first things in the world.
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I will give you a definition of a proud man: he is a man who has neither vanity nor wisdom one filled with hatreds cannot be vain, neither can he be wise.
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I have so much of you in my heart.
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Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips, bidding adieu
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Faded the flower and all its budded charms,Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes,Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise!Vanishd unseasonably
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And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes.
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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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O fret not after knowledge - I have none, and yet my song comes native with the warmth. O fret not after knowledge - I have none, and yet the Evening listens.
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Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art-- Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite.
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Some say the world is a vale of tears, I say it is a place of soul-making.
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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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'Tis the witching hour of night, Orbed is the moon and bright. And the stars they glisten, glisten, Seeming with bright eyes to listen- For what listen they?
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