Quote

... the open sky sits upon our senses like a sapphire crown - the Air is our robe of state - the Earth is our throne, and the Sea a mighty minstrel playing before it.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Air
Crown
Playing
Sits
Sapphire
Open
Thrones
Minstrel
State
Crowns
Sapphires
Upon
Mighty
Minstrels
Earth
Senses
Robe
States
Sky
Robes
Like
Sea
Throne

More quotes by John Keats

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I find I cannot exist without Poetry
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No, no, I'm sure, My restless spirit never could endure To brood so long upon one luxury, Unless it did, though fearfully, espy A hope beyond the shadow of a dream.
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How sad it is when a luxurious imagination is obliged in self defense to deaden its delicacy in vulgarity, and riot in things attainable that it may not have leisure to go mad after things that are not.
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Souls of poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? Have ye tippled drink more fine Than mine host's Canary wine?
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My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains/ My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk.
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It appears to me that almost any man may like the spider spin from his own inwards his own airy citadel.
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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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That which is creative must create itself.
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As the Swiss inscription says: Sprechen ist silbern, Schweigen ist golden,- Speech is silvern, Silence is golden or, as I might rather express it, Speech is of Time, Silence is of Eternity.
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She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around.
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That queen of secrecy, the violet.
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A poet without love were a physical and metaphysical impossibility.
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O latest born and loveliest vision far of all Olympus' faded hierarchy.
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A man should have the fine point of his soul taken off to become fit for this world.
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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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I do think better of womankind than to suppose they care whether Mister John Keats five feet high likes them or not.
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Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them thou has thy music 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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Blessed is the healthy nature it is the coherent, sweetly co-operative, not incoherent, self-distracting, self-destructive one!
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