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Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams The summer time away.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Buried
Summer
Dreams
Path
Away
Dream
Sleepy
Time
Paths
Twilight

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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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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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With a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration.
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An extensive knowledge is needful to thinking people-it takes away the heat and fever and helps, by widening speculation, to ease the burden of the mystery.
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... Who alive can say 'Thou art no Poet - mayst not tell thy dreams'? Since every man whose soul is not a clod Hath visions, and would speak, if he had loved, And been well nurtured in his mother tongue.
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The poetry of the earth is never dead.
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I shall soon be laid in the quiet grave--thank God for the quiet grave--O! I can feel the cold earth upon me--the daisies growing over me--O for this quiet--it will be my first.
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Time, that aged nurse, Rocked me to patience.
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Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive.
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I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.
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--then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
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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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Dancing music, music sad, Both together, sane and mad.
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O latest born and loveliest vision far of all Olympus' faded hierarchy.
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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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