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Dancing music, music sad, Both together, sane and mad.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Sane
Mad
Dancing
Together
Music

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it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously - I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.
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Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:--do I wake or sleep?
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Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive.
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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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He ne'er is crowned with immortality Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.
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I find I cannot exist without Poetry
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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 good reason to be content, for thank God I can read and perhaps understand Shakespeare to his depths.
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I am sailing with thee through the dizzy sky! How beautiful thou art!
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Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams The summer time away.
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It keeps eternal whisperings around desolate shores
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I don't need the stars in the night I found my treasure All I need is you by my side so shine forever
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And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes.
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A drainless shower Of light is poesy: 'tis the supreme of power 'Tis might half slumbering on its own right arm.
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But the rose leaves herself upon the brier, For winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed.
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The genius of Shakespeare was an innate university.
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Let us away, my love, with happy speed There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, - Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead. Awake! arise! my love and fearless be, For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee.
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O let me lead her gently o'er the brook, Watch her half-smiling lips and downward look O let me for one moment touch her wrist Let me one moment to her breathing list And as she leaves me, may she often turn Her fair eyes looking through her locks auburne.
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Their woes gone by, and both to heaven upflown, To bow for gratitude before Jove's throne.
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A poet without love were a physical and metaphysical impossibility.
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