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But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings That fill the sky with silver glitterings!

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Sky
Heaven
Stoop
Stoops
Silver
Fill
Thee
Wings

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Darkling I listen and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Called him soft names in many a muse' d rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy!
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Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time.
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A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
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We have woven a web, you and I, attached to this world but a separate world of our own invention.
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I find I cannot exist without Poetry
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The uttered part of a man's life, let us always repeat, bears to the unuttered, unconscious part a small unknown proportion. He himself never knows it, much less do others.
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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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Many have original minds who do not think it - they are led away by custom!
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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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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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In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy brook, Thy bubblings ne'er remember Apollo's summer look But with a sweet forgetting, They stay their crystal fretting, Never, never petting About the frozen time.
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I have loved the principle of beauty in all things.
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...yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From out dark spirits.
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The poetry of the earth is never dead.
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The air is all softness.
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Knowledge enormous makes a god of me.
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Knowledge enormous makes a God of me. Names, deeds, gray legends, dire events, rebellions, Majesties, sovran voices, agonies, Creations and destroyings, all at once Pour into the wide hollows of my brain, And deify me, as if some blithe wine Or bright elixir peerless I had drunk, And so become immortal.
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You are always new to me.
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