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A poet without love were a physical and metaphysical impossibility.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Impossibility
Metaphysical
Physical
Poet
Without
Love

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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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Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop From low hung branches little space they stop But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek Then off at once, as in a wanton freak: Or perhaps, to show their black, and golden wings Pausing upon their yellow flutterings.
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Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect.
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Young playmates of the rose and daffodil, Be careful ere ye enter in, to fill Your baskets high With fennel green, and balm, and golden pines Savory latter-mint, and columbines.
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And there shall be for thee all soft delight That shadowy thought can win, A bright torch, and a casement ope at night, To let the warm Love in!
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That queen of secrecy, the violet.
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The only means of strengthening one's intellect is to make up one's mind about nothing, to let the mind be a thoroughfare for all thoughts.
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I have loved the principle of beauty in all things.
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I will clamber through the clouds and exist.
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The excellence of every Art is its intensity.
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Let us away, my love, with happy speed There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, - Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead. Awake! arise! my love and fearless be, For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee.
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She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around.
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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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Every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer.
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Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.
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Stop and consider! life is but a day
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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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Their woes gone by, and both to heaven upflown, To bow for gratitude before Jove's throne.
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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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Dry your eyes O dry your eyes, For I was taught in Paradise To ease my breast of melodies.
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