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Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Time
Foster
Slow
Thou
Silence
Child
Children
More quotes by John Keats
You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving.
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No one can usurp the heights... But those to whom the miseries of the world Are misery, and will not let them rest.
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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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The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
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Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.
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The opinion I have of the generality of women--who appear to me as children to whom I would rather give a sugar plum than my time, forms a barrier against matrimony which I rejoice in.
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It ought to come like the leaves to the trees, or it better not come at all.
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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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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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Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget.
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There is an awful warmth about my heart like a load of immortality.
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I came to feel how far above All fancy, pride, and fickle maidenhood, All earthly pleasure, all imagined good, Was the warm tremble of a devout kiss.
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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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Poetry should surprise by a fine excess and not by singularity, it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
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I would jump down Etna for any public good - but I hate a mawkish popularity.
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The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft and gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
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Works of genius are the first things in the world.
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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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How does the poet speak to men with power, but by being still more a man than they
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