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Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Trembling
Weed
Soft
Awake
Sea
Chilly
Dreams
Mermaid
Dream
Nest
Like
Nests
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I came to feel how far above All fancy, pride, and fickle maidenhood, All earthly pleasure, all imagined good, Was the warm tremble of a devout kiss.
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It ought to come like the leaves to the trees, or it better not come at all.
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Here lies one whose name was writ in water.
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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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Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips, bidding adieu
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I find I cannot exist without Poetry
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... 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.
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I would jump down Etna for any public good - but I hate a mawkish popularity.
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I am sailing with thee through the dizzy sky! How beautiful thou art!
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The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide.
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Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, Flushing his brow.
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When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance.
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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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I am convinced more and more day by day that fine writing is next to fine doing, the top thing in the world.
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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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I love your hills and I love your dales, And I love your flocks a-bleating but oh, on the heather to lie together, With both our hearts a-beating!
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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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O magic sleep! O comfortable bird, That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind Till it is hush'd and smooth!
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