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You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Sensations
Present
Though
Moment
Moments
Forgetful
Dissolving
Absorb
Sensation

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Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.
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In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity.
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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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O latest born and loveliest vision far of all Olympus' faded hierarchy.
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I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute.
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--then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
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My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains/ My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk.
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My friends should drink a dozen of Claret on my Tomb.
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And shade the violets, That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.
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Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not
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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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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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Knowledge enormous makes a god of me.
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I will clamber through the clouds and exist.
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But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings That fill the sky with silver glitterings!
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There is a budding tomorrow in midnight.
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was it a vision or a waking dream? Fled is that music--do I wake or sleep?
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Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings.
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There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.
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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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