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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
Helping
Slumber
Hands
Adore
Kiss
Presses
Press
Kissing
Hand
Help

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Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget.
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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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An extensive knowledge is needful to thinking people-it takes away the heat and fever and helps, by widening speculation, to ease the burden of the mystery.
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Their woes gone by, and both to heaven upflown, To bow for gratitude before Jove's throne.
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It is a flaw In happiness to see beyond our bourn, - It forces us in summer skies to mourn, It spoils the singing of the nightingale.
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Now a soft kiss - Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.
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I have good reason to be content, for thank God I can read and perhaps understand Shakespeare to his depths.
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Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest.
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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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Four seasons fill the measure of the year there are four seasons in the minds of men.
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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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Open afresh your rounds of starry folds, Ye ardent Marigolds.
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