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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.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Left
Behind
Nothing
Proud
Work
Memories
Made
Loved
Immortal
Make
Principles
Remembered
Things
Beauty
Principle
Would
Dies
Memory
Time
Friends
Behinds

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It is a flaw In happiness to see beyond our bourn, - It forces us in summer skies to mourn, It spoils the singing of the nightingale.
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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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Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings.
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Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect.
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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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The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide.
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Works of genius are the first things in the world.
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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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Scenery is fine - but human nature is finer.
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...yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From out dark spirits.
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It keeps eternal whisperings around desolate shores
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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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There is an awful warmth about my heart like a load of immortality.
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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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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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And there shall be for thee all soft delight That shadowy thought can win, A bright torch, and a casement ope at night, To let the warm Love in!
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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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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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How does the poet speak to men with power, but by being still more a man than they
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