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I would jump down Etna for any public good - but I hate a mawkish popularity.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Good
Would
Popularity
Jump
Public
Hate

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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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A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves.
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...I leaped headlong into the Sea, and thereby have become more acquainted with the Soundings, the quicksands, and the rocks, than if I had stayed upon the green shore, and piped a silly pipe, and took tea and comfortable advice.
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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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There is a budding tomorrow in midnight.
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Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.
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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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And shade the violets, That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.
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The Public - a thing I cannot help looking upon as an enemy, and which I cannot address without feelings of hostility.
John Keats
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Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor.
John Keats
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I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute.
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You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving.
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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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Four seasons fill the measure of the year there are four seasons in the minds of men.
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Darkling I listen and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Called him soft names in many a muse' d rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy!
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O aching time! O moments big as years!
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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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A drainless shower Of light is poesy: 'tis the supreme of power 'Tis might half slumbering on its own right arm.
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My friends should drink a dozen of Claret on my Tomb.
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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.
John Keats