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So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud, Sweet Hope! celestial influence round me shed Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Dark
Shed
Hope
Silver
Spirit
Round
Rounds
Pinions
Sweet
Shroud
Thoughts
Shrouds
Influence
Waving
Head
Celestial
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A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves.
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Everything that reminds me of her goes through me like a spear.
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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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Four seasons fill the measure of the year there are four seasons in the minds of men.
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Blessed is the healthy nature it is the coherent, sweetly co-operative, not incoherent, self-distracting, self-destructive one!
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Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, Flushing his brow.
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The air is all softness.
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That queen of secrecy, the violet.
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I will clamber through the clouds and exist.
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There is nothing stable in the world uproar's your only music.
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...yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From out dark spirits.
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one of the most mysterious of semi-speculations is, one would suppose, that of one Mind's imagining into another
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Dancing music, music sad, Both together, sane and mad.
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Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not
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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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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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And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes.
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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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I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.
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Nothing is finer for the purposes of great productions than a very gradual ripening of the intellectual powers.
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