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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
Hand
Help
Helping
Slumber
Hands
Adore
Kiss
Presses
Press
Kissing

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How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
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... the open sky sits upon our senses like a sapphire crown - the Air is our robe of state - the Earth is our throne, and the Sea a mighty minstrel playing before it.
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Many have original minds who do not think it - they are led away by custom!
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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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O magic sleep! O comfortable bird, That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind Till it is hush'd and smooth!
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I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.
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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 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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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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Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time.
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The genius of Shakespeare was an innate university.
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To stay youthful, stay useful.
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Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor.
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I wish you could invent some means to make me at all happy without you. Every hour I am more and more concentrated in you everything else tastes like chaff in my mouth.
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And shade the violets, That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.
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