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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
Seems
Miseries
Self
Mistress
Rainbow
Demon
Lady
Misery
Touch
Seem
Sided

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The air is all softness.
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My friends should drink a dozen of Claret on my Tomb.
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Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?
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The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
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I do think better of womankind than to suppose they care whether Mister John Keats five feet high likes them or not.
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Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong, And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song.
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Ay, on the shores of darkness there is a light, and precipices show untrodden green there is a budding morrow in midnight there is triple sight in blindness keen.
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Blessed is the healthy nature it is the coherent, sweetly co-operative, not incoherent, self-distracting, self-destructive one!
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Young playmates of the rose and daffodil, Be careful ere ye enter in, to fill Your baskets high With fennel green, and balm, and golden pines Savory latter-mint, and columbines.
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... the open sky sits upon our senses like a sapphire crown - the Air is our robe of state - the Earth is our throne, and the Sea a mighty minstrel playing before it.
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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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Time, that aged nurse, Rocked me to patience.
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Its better to lose your ego to the One you Love than to lose the One you Love to your Ego
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The creature has a purpose, and his eyes are bright with it.
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I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.
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O for the gentleness of old Romance, the simple planning of a minstrel's song!
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The roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the window pane are my children. The mighty abstract idea I have of beauty in all things stifles the more divided and minute domestic happiness.
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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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Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.
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Then felt I like some watcher of the skies when a new planet swims into his ken.
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