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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
Great
Overcomes
Every
Genocide
Consideration
Overcoming
Poet
Beauty
Rather
Sense
Obliterates

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The poetry of the earth is never dead.
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The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide.
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It can be said of him, when he departed he took a Man's life with him. No sounder piece of British manhood was put together in that eighteenth century of Time.
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She press'd his hand in slumber so once more He could not help but kiss her and adore.
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was it a vision or a waking dream? Fled is that music--do I wake or sleep?
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Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, Flushing his brow.
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My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk.
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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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A moment's thought is passion's passing knell.
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Who would wish to be among the commonplace crowd of the little famous - who are each individually lost in a throng made up of themselves?
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... Who alive can say 'Thou art no Poet - mayst not tell thy dreams'? Since every man whose soul is not a clod Hath visions, and would speak, if he had loved, And been well nurtured in his mother tongue.
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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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A poet without love were a physical and metaphysical impossibility.
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Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong, And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song.
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Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not
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Many have original minds who do not think it - they are led away by custom!
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It keeps eternal whisperings around desolate shores
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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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No, no, I'm sure, My restless spirit never could endure To brood so long upon one luxury, Unless it did, though fearfully, espy A hope beyond the shadow of a dream.
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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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