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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
Romantic
Poetry
Heart
Much
Love
Adoption

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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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was it a vision or a waking dream? Fled is that music--do I wake or sleep?
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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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I have loved the principle of beauty in all things.
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When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, Beauty is truth, truth beauty, - that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
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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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Many have original minds who do not think it - they are led away by custom!
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No stir of air was there, Not so much life as on a summer's day Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass, But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.
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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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A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves.
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Load every rift with ore.
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I don't need the stars in the night I found my treasure All I need is you by my side so shine forever
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Open afresh your rounds of starry folds, Ye ardent Marigolds.
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Dancing music, music sad, Both together, sane and mad.
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The air is all softness.
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I find I cannot exist without Poetry
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I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for their religion-- I have shuddered at it, I shudder no more. I could be martyred for my religion. Love is my religion and I could die for that. I could die for you. My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet.
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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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O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts!
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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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