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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

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Sleep
Death
Dream
Phantom
Life
Phantoms
Scenes
Bliss
Pass
Scene

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I should write for the mere yearning and fondness I have for the beautiful, even if my night's labors should be burnt every morning and no eye shine upon them.
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Who would wish to be among the commonplace crowd of the little famous - who are each individually lost in a throng made up of themselves?
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How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
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Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor.
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Some say the world is a vale of tears, I say it is a place of soul-making.
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My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.
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You are always new. The last of your kisses was even the sweetest the last smile the brightest the last movement the gracefullest.
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But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings That fill the sky with silver glitterings!
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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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It keeps eternal whisperings around desolate shores
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Load every rift with ore.
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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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O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts!
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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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To bear all naked truths, And to envisage circumstance, all calm, That is the top of sovereignty
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Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest.
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Young playmates of the rose and daffodil, Be careful ere ye enter in, to fill Your baskets high With fennel green, and balm, and golden pines Savory latter-mint, and columbines.
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The world is too brutal for me-I am glad there is such a thing as the grave-I am sure I shall never have any rest till I get there.
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There is a budding tomorrow in midnight.
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