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Time, that aged nurse, Rocked me to patience.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Aged
Nurse
Patience
Time
Rocked
More quotes by John Keats
Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive.
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Load every rift with ore.
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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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That which is creative must create itself.
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The Public - a thing I cannot help looking upon as an enemy, and which I cannot address without feelings of hostility.
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Many have original minds who do not think it - they are led away by custom!
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A man should have the fine point of his soul taken off to become fit for this world.
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A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves.
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Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.
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Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them thou has thy music too.
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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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'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?
John Keats
He ne'er is crowned with immortality Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.
John Keats
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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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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I have so much of you in my heart.
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Parting they seemed to tread upon the air, Twin roses by the zephyr blown apart Only to meet again more close.
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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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When I have fears that I may ceace to be, Before my pen has gleaned my teaming brain.
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Knowledge enormous makes a God of me. Names, deeds, gray legends, dire events, rebellions, Majesties, sovran voices, agonies, Creations and destroyings, all at once Pour into the wide hollows of my brain, And deify me, as if some blithe wine Or bright elixir peerless I had drunk, And so become immortal.
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