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I have so much of you in my heart.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Adoption
Romantic
Poetry
Heart
Much
Love

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I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections, and the truth of imagination.
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Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips, bidding adieu
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My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.
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I myself am pursuing the same instinctive course as the veriest human animal you can think of I am, however young, writing at random straining at particles of light in the midst of a great darkness without knowing the bearing of any one assertion, of any one opinion. Yet may I not in this be free from sin?
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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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Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.
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A moment's thought is passion's passing knell.
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Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams The summer time away.
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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.
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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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Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong, And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song.
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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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The poetry of earth is never dead When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide I cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead.
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Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive.
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There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.
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That queen of secrecy, the violet.
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Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?
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I am sailing with thee through the dizzy sky! How beautiful thou art!
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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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... 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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