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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.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Coming
Fading
Full
Flies
Child
Cover
Dewy
May
Leaves
Musk
Children
Fast
Violets
Rose
Eldest
Wine
Haunt
Summer
Violet
More quotes by John Keats
The opinion I have of the generality of women--who appear to me as children to whom I would rather give a sugar plum than my time, forms a barrier against matrimony which I rejoice in.
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How does the poet speak to men with power, but by being still more a man than they
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I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for their religion-- I have shuddered at it, I shudder no more. I could be martyred for my religion. Love is my religion and I could die for that. I could die for you. My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet.
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I wish I was either in your arms full of faith, or that a Thunder bolt would strike me.
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O latest born and loveliest vision far of all Olympus' faded hierarchy.
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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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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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Many have original minds who do not think it - they are led away by custom!
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There is an awful warmth about my heart like a load of immortality.
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Dancing music, music sad, Both together, sane and mad.
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A moment's thought is passion's passing knell.
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I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections, and the truth of imagination.
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Every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer.
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The genius of Shakespeare was an innate university.
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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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Talking of Pleasure, this moment I was writing with one hand, and with the other holding to my Mouth a Nectarine - how good how fine. It went down all pulpy, slushy, oozy, all its delicious embonpoint melted down my throat like a large, beatified Strawberry.
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Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget.
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I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.
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Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong, And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song.
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