Quote

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
Young
Flower
Bloom
Years
Tears
Weep
Dying
Tear
Sleep
Shed
Year
Root
White
Winter
Buds
Death
Core
Impermanence
Another
Roots
Bud

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Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by? ---On death
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Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
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Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes.
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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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Works of genius are the first things in the world.
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Everything that reminds me of her goes through me like a spear.
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But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings That fill the sky with silver glitterings!
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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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it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously - I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.
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Time, that aged nurse, Rocked me to patience.
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Give me books, French wine, fruit, fine weather and a little music played out of doors by somebody I do not know.
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The world is too brutal for me-I am glad there is such a thing as the grave-I am sure I shall never have any rest till I get there.
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She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around.
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And shade the violets, That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.
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I am convinced more and more day by day that fine writing is next to fine doing, the top thing in the world.
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That which is creative must create itself.
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So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries, She seem'd, at once, some penanced lady elf, Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self.
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Call the world if you please the vale of soul-making. Then you will find out the use of the world.
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If I should die, I have left no immortal work behind me — nothing to make my friends proud of my memory — but I have loved the principle of beauty in all things, and if I had had time I would have made myself remembered.
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I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart’s affections and the truth of the Imagination – What the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth – whether it existed before or not – for I have the same Idea of all our Passions as of Love they are all in their sublime, creative of essential Beauty . . .
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