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She press'd his hand in slumber so once more He could not help but kiss her and adore.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Presses
Press
Kissing
Hand
Help
Helping
Slumber
Hands
Adore
Kiss
More quotes by John Keats
O for the gentleness of old Romance, the simple planning of a minstrel's song!
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I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute.
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We must repeat the often repeated saying, that it is unworthy a religious man to view an irreligious one either with alarm or aversion, or with any other feeling than regret and hope and brotherly commiseration.
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Then felt I like some watcher of the skies when a new planet swims into his ken.
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Feeling well that breathed words Would all be lost, unheard, and vain as swords Against the enchased crocodile, or leaps Of grasshoppers against the sun.
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The air is all softness.
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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 excellence of every Art is its intensity.
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Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time.
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You speak of Lord Byron and me there is this great difference between us. He describes what he sees I describe what I imagine. Mine is the hardest task.
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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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That queen of secrecy, the violet.
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She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around.
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Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not
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You are always new to me.
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O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts!
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A long poem is a test of invention which I take to be the Polar star of poetry, as fancy is the sails, and imagination the rudder.
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Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter therefore, ye soft pipes, play on Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone.
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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.
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And shade the violets, That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.
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