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She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Sleep
Words
Around
Beset
Hurried
Dragons
Sleeping
Fears
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Failure is, in a sense, the highway to success.
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Dancing music, music sad, Both together, sane and mad.
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A man's life of any worth is a continual allegory, and very few eyes can see the mystery of his life, a life like the scriptures, figurative.
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If I should die, I have left no immortal work behind me — nothing to make my friends proud of my memory — but I have loved the principle of beauty in all things, and if I had had time I would have made myself remembered.
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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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She press'd his hand in slumber so once more He could not help but kiss her and adore.
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Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, Flushing his brow.
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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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I have so much of you in my heart.
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Every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer.
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No, no, I'm sure, My restless spirit never could endure To brood so long upon one luxury, Unless it did, though fearfully, espy A hope beyond the shadow of a dream.
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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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Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest.
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Parting they seemed to tread upon the air, Twin roses by the zephyr blown apart Only to meet again more close.
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We must repeat the often repeated saying, that it is unworthy a religious man to view an irreligious one either with alarm or aversion, or with any other feeling than regret and hope and brotherly commiseration.
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A moment's thought is passion's passing knell.
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I never can feel certain of any truth, but from a clear perception of its beauty.
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I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.
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Let us away, my love, with happy speed There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, - Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead. Awake! arise! my love and fearless be, For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee.
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