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Load every rift with ore.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Rift
Load
Crafts
Every

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A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves.
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Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest.
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Some say the world is a vale of tears, I say it is a place of soul-making.
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It can be said of him, when he departed he took a Man's life with him. No sounder piece of British manhood was put together in that eighteenth century of Time.
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Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong, And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song.
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I will give you a definition of a proud man: he is a man who has neither vanity nor wisdom one filled with hatreds cannot be vain, neither can he be wise.
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Souls of poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? Have ye tippled drink more fine Than mine host's Canary wine?
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O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep,-- Nature's observatory--whence the dell, In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell, May seem a span let me thy vigils keep 'Mongst boughs pavilion'd, where the deer's swift leap Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.
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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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That which is creative must create itself.
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It appears to me that almost any man may like the spider spin from his own inwards his own airy citadel.
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I am sailing with thee through the dizzy sky! How beautiful thou art!
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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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To feel forever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever-or else swoon in death.
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I wish I was either in your arms full of faith, or that a Thunder bolt would strike me.
John Keats
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I have loved the principle of beauty in all things.
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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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Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art-- Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite.
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The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide.
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Time, that aged nurse, Rocked me to patience.
John Keats