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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
Fill
Thee
Wings
Sky
Heaven
Stoop
Stoops
Silver

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Works of genius are the first things in the world.
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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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Four seasons fill the measure of the year there are four seasons in the minds of men.
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The roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the window pane are my children. The mighty abstract idea I have of beauty in all things stifles the more divided and minute domestic happiness.
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You are always new to me.
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A poet without love were a physical and metaphysical impossibility.
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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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Open afresh your rounds of starry folds, Ye ardent Marigolds.
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All my clear-eyed fish, Golden, or rainbow-sided, or purplish, Vermilion-tail'd, or finn'd with silvery gauze... My charming rod, my potent river spells.
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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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Ay, on the shores of darkness there is a light, and precipices show untrodden green there is a budding morrow in midnight there is triple sight in blindness keen.
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The genius of Shakespeare was an innate university.
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Now a soft kiss - Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.
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Poetry should surprise by a fine excess and not by singularity, it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
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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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I wish you could invent some means to make me at all happy without you. Every hour I am more and more concentrated in you everything else tastes like chaff in my mouth.
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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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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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Scenery is fine - but human nature is finer.
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