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Shed no tear - O, shed no tear! The flower will bloom another year. Weep no more - O, weep no more! Young buds sleep in the root's white core.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
White
Winter
Buds
Death
Core
Impermanence
Another
Roots
Bud
Young
Flower
Bloom
Years
Tears
Weep
Dying
Tear
Sleep
Shed
Year
Root
More quotes by John Keats
How sad it is when a luxurious imagination is obliged in self defense to deaden its delicacy in vulgarity, and riot in things attainable that it may not have leisure to go mad after things that are not.
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Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings.
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What shocks the virtuous philosopher, delights the chameleon poet.
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Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time.
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Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter therefore, ye soft pipes, play on Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone.
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I have loved the principle of beauty in all things.
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Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:--do I wake or sleep?
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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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You are always new. The last of your kisses was even the sweetest the last smile the brightest the last movement the gracefullest.
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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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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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I would jump down Etna for any public good - but I hate a mawkish popularity.
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In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity.
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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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Even bees, the little almsmen of spring bowers, know there is richest juice in poison-flowers.
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I am in that temper that if I were under water I would scarcely kick to come to the top.
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The air is all softness.
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Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not
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Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, Flushing his brow.
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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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