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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
Men
Poet
Speak
Stills
Power
Doe
Still

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When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance.
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She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around.
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You speak of Lord Byron and me there is this great difference between us. He describes what he sees I describe what I imagine. Mine is the hardest task.
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He ne'er is crowned with immortality Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.
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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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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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Love in a hut, with water and a crust, Is - Love, forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.
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O, sorrow! Why dost borrow Heart's lightness from the merriment of May?
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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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All writing is a form of prayer.
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And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes.
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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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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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That queen of secrecy, the violet.
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Many have original minds who do not think it - they are led away by custom!
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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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Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them thou has thy music too.
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The only means of strengthening one's intellect is to make up one's mind about nothing, to let the mind be a thoroughfare for all thoughts.
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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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The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft and gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
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