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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!
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Mind
Troubled
Smooth
Till
Bird
Sea
Comfortable
Magic
Sleep
Hush
More quotes by John Keats
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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Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest.
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The thought, the deadly thought of solitude.
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Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not
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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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Some say the world is a vale of tears, I say it is a place of soul-making.
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I do think better of womankind than to suppose they care whether Mister John Keats five feet high likes them or not.
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Works of genius are the first things in the world.
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I shall soon be laid in the quiet grave--thank God for the quiet grave--O! I can feel the cold earth upon me--the daisies growing over me--O for this quiet--it will be my first.
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No sooner had I stepp'd into these pleasures Than I began to think of rhymes and measures: The air that floated by me seem'd to say 'Write! thou wilt never have a better day.
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A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves.
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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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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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O for the gentleness of old Romance, the simple planning of a minstrel's song!
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Dancing music, music sad, Both together, sane and mad.
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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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There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.
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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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To bear all naked truths, And to envisage circumstance, all calm, That is the top of sovereignty
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