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was it a vision or a waking dream? Fled is that music--do I wake or sleep?

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Dreamer
Waking
Wake
Vision
Sleep
Dream
Adieu
Music
Fled
Love
Anthem

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Load every rift with ore.
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...I leaped headlong into the Sea, and thereby have become more acquainted with the Soundings, the quicksands, and the rocks, than if I had stayed upon the green shore, and piped a silly pipe, and took tea and comfortable advice.
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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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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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I wish I was either in your arms full of faith, or that a Thunder bolt would strike me.
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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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You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving.
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How does the poet speak to men with power, but by being still more a man than they
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It can be said of him, when he departed he took a Man's life with him. No sounder piece of British manhood was put together in that eighteenth century of Time.
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A moment's thought is passion's passing knell.
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Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive.
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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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My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk.
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Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop From low hung branches little space they stop But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek Then off at once, as in a wanton freak: Or perhaps, to show their black, and golden wings Pausing upon their yellow flutterings.
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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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Works of genius are the first things in the world.
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He ne'er is crowned with immortality Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.
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O magic sleep! O comfortable bird, That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind Till it is hush'd and smooth!
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Now a soft kiss - Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.
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No stir of air was there, Not so much life as on a summer's day Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass, But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.
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