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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.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Feels
Fall
Soft
Death
Awake
Else
Breath
Stills
Breaths
Still
Sweet
Swoon
Ever
Hear
Swell
Live
Forever
Unrest
Feel
Taken
Tender
More quotes by John Keats
Here lies one whose name was writ in water.
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He ne'er is crowned with immortality Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.
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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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Open afresh your rounds of starry folds, Ye ardent Marigolds.
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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 poetry of the earth is never dead.
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Talking of Pleasure, this moment I was writing with one hand, and with the other holding to my Mouth a Nectarine - how good how fine. It went down all pulpy, slushy, oozy, all its delicious embonpoint melted down my throat like a large, beatified Strawberry.
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Time, that aged nurse, Rocked me to patience.
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We must repeat the often repeated saying, that it is unworthy a religious man to view an irreligious one either with alarm or aversion, or with any other feeling than regret and hope and brotherly commiseration.
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Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive.
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Knowledge enormous makes a god of me.
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Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget.
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My friends should drink a dozen of Claret on my Tomb.
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I am sailing with thee through the dizzy sky! How beautiful thou art!
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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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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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Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect.
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Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes.
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The excellence of every Art is its intensity.
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