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Their woes gone by, and both to heaven upflown, To bow for gratitude before Jove's throne.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Woe
Thrones
Bows
Gratitude
Gone
Heaven
Jove
Woes
Throne

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In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy brook, Thy bubblings ne'er remember Apollo's summer look But with a sweet forgetting, They stay their crystal fretting, Never, never petting About the frozen time.
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Philosophy will clip an angel's wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine - Unweave a rainbow.
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Time, that aged nurse, Rocked me to patience.
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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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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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The creature has a purpose, and his eyes are bright with it.
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I Cannot Exist Without You. I Am Forgetful Of Everything But Seeing You Again.
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When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, Beauty is truth, truth beauty, - that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
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Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not
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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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Ay, on the shores of darkness there is a light, and precipices show untrodden green there is a budding morrow in midnight there is triple sight in blindness keen.
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To one who has been long in city pent, ’Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven, — to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
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O for the gentleness of old Romance, the simple planning of a minstrel's song!
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Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor.
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O aching time! O moments big as years!
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Many have original minds who do not think it - they are led away by custom!
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Why employ intelligent and highly paid ambassadors and then go and do their work for them? You don't buy a canary and sing yourself.
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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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