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Open afresh your rounds of starry folds, Ye ardent Marigolds.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Flower
Open
Marigolds
Afresh
Starry
Ardent
Folds
Rounds

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I have loved the principle of beauty in all things.
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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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In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity.
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Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter therefore, ye soft pipes, play on Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone.
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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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Blessed is the healthy nature it is the coherent, sweetly co-operative, not incoherent, self-distracting, self-destructive one!
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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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Now a soft kiss - Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.
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O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts!
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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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I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too.
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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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Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not
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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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When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, Beauty is truth, truth beauty, - that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
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I am convinced more and more day by day that fine writing is next to fine doing, the top thing in the world.
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What shocks the virtuous philosopher, delights the chameleon poet.
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Why employ intelligent and highly paid ambassadors and then go and do their work for them? You don't buy a canary and sing yourself.
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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.
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