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You are always new. The last of your kisses was even the sweetest the last smile the brightest the last movement the gracefullest.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Movement
Lasts
Last
Even
Brightest
Always
Kisses
Sweetest
Kissing
Smile

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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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Poetry should surprise by a fine excess and not by singularity, it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
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A man's life of any worth is a continual allegory, and very few eyes can see the mystery of his life, a life like the scriptures, figurative.
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Failure is, in a sense, the highway to success.
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I am in that temper that if I were under water I would scarcely kick to come to the top.
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I wish I was either in your arms full of faith, or that a Thunder bolt would strike me.
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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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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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I came to feel how far above All fancy, pride, and fickle maidenhood, All earthly pleasure, all imagined good, Was the warm tremble of a devout kiss.
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And shade the violets, That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.
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A poet is the most unpoetical of anything in existence because he has no identity he is continually informing and filling some other body.
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And there shall be for thee all soft delight That shadowy thought can win, A bright torch, and a casement ope at night, To let the warm Love in!
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What is there in thee, Moon! That thou should'st move My heart so potently?
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That queen of secrecy, the violet.
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O for the gentleness of old Romance, the simple planning of a minstrel's song!
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To bear all naked truths, And to envisage circumstance, all calm, That is the top of sovereignty
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With a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration.
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Open afresh your rounds of starry folds, Ye ardent Marigolds.
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