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How does the poet speak to men with power, but by being still more a man than they

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Doe
Still
Men
Poet
Speak
Stills
Power

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It keeps eternal whisperings around desolate shores
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It can be said of him, when he departed he took a Man's life with him. No sounder piece of British manhood was put together in that eighteenth century of Time.
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The imagination of a boy is healthy, and the mature imagination of a man is healthy but there is a space of life between, in which the soul is in a ferment, the character undecided, the way of life uncertain, the ambition thick-sighted: thence proceeds mawkishness.
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As the Swiss inscription says: Sprechen ist silbern, Schweigen ist golden,- Speech is silvern, Silence is golden or, as I might rather express it, Speech is of Time, Silence is of Eternity.
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Stop and consider! life is but a day
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The uttered part of a man's life, let us always repeat, bears to the unuttered, unconscious part a small unknown proportion. He himself never knows it, much less do others.
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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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I have good reason to be content, for thank God I can read and perhaps understand Shakespeare to his depths.
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I don't need the stars in the night I found my treasure All I need is you by my side so shine forever
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Everything that reminds me of her goes through me like a spear.
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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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O let me lead her gently o'er the brook, Watch her half-smiling lips and downward look O let me for one moment touch her wrist Let me one moment to her breathing list And as she leaves me, may she often turn Her fair eyes looking through her locks auburne.
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A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
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The thought, the deadly thought of solitude.
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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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My mind has been the most discontented and restless one that ever was put into a body too small for it.... I never felt my mind repose upon anything with complete and undistracted enjoyment- upon no person but you. When you are in the room my thoughts never fly out of window: you always concentrate my whole senses
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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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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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So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud, Sweet Hope! celestial influence round me shed Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head.
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The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide.
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