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We have woven a web, you and I, attached to this world but a separate world of our own invention.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Woven
Attached
Separate
Invention
World

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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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Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by? ---On death
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A poet is the most unpoetical of anything in existence because he has no identity he is continually informing and filling some other body.
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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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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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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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Even bees, the little almsmen of spring bowers, know there is richest juice in poison-flowers.
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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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O fret not after knowledge - I have none, and yet my song comes native with the warmth. O fret not after knowledge - I have none, and yet the Evening listens.
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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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The creature has a purpose, and his eyes are bright with it.
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There is an awful warmth about my heart like a load of immortality.
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The Public - a thing I cannot help looking upon as an enemy, and which I cannot address without feelings of hostility.
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I would jump down Etna for any public good - but I hate a mawkish popularity.
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I have so much of you in my heart.
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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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Blessed is the healthy nature it is the coherent, sweetly co-operative, not incoherent, self-distracting, self-destructive one!
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Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong, And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song.
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Faded the flower and all its budded charms,Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes,Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise!Vanishd unseasonably
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