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Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them thou has thy music too.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Spring
Songs
Song
Music
Think
Thinking
Thou
More quotes by John Keats
When I have fears that I may ceace to be, Before my pen has gleaned my teaming brain.
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My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk.
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The only means of strengthening one's intellect is to make up one's mind about nothing, to let the mind be a thoroughfare for all thoughts.
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The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide.
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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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But the rose leaves herself upon the brier, For winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed.
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I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too.
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The imagination of a boy is healthy, and the mature imagination of a man is healthy but there is a space of life between, in which the soul is in a ferment, the character undecided, the way of life uncertain, the ambition thick-sighted: thence proceeds mawkishness.
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'Tis the witching hour of night, Orbed is the moon and bright. And the stars they glisten, glisten, Seeming with bright eyes to listen- For what listen they?
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Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.
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My friends should drink a dozen of Claret on my Tomb.
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If I should die, I have left no immortal work behind me — nothing to make my friends proud of my memory — but I have loved the principle of beauty in all things, and if I had had time I would have made myself remembered.
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The creature has a purpose, and his eyes are bright with it.
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Failure is, in a sense, the highway to success.
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O for the gentleness of old Romance, the simple planning of a minstrel's song!
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Many have original minds who do not think it - they are led away by custom!
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That queen of secrecy, the violet.
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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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A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves.
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Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art-- Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite.
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