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So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries, She seem'd, at once, some penanced lady elf, Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Demon
Lady
Misery
Touch
Seem
Sided
Seems
Miseries
Self
Mistress
Rainbow

More quotes by John Keats

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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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It ought to come like the leaves to the trees, or it better not come at all.
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Stop and consider! life is but a day
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The thought, the deadly thought of solitude.
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The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
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O for the gentleness of old Romance, the simple planning of a minstrel's song!
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Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards, And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.
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Give me books, French wine, fruit, fine weather and a little music played out of doors by somebody I do not know.
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How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
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I am convinced more and more day by day that fine writing is next to fine doing, the top thing in the world.
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Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not
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Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget.
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My mind has been the most discontented and restless one that ever was put into a body too small for it.... I never felt my mind repose upon anything with complete and undistracted enjoyment- upon no person but you. When you are in the room my thoughts never fly out of window: you always concentrate my whole senses
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The imagination of a boy is healthy, and the mature imagination of a man is healthy but there is a space of life between, in which the soul is in a ferment, the character undecided, the way of life uncertain, the ambition thick-sighted: thence proceeds mawkishness.
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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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Here lies one whose name was writ in water.
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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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Why employ intelligent and highly paid ambassadors and then go and do their work for them? You don't buy a canary and sing yourself.
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And shade the violets, That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.
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There is an awful warmth about my heart like a load of immortality.
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