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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
Starry
Ardent
Folds
Rounds
Flower
Open
Marigolds
Afresh

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Even bees, the little almsmen of spring bowers, know there is richest juice in poison-flowers.
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The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
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How sad it is when a luxurious imagination is obliged in self defense to deaden its delicacy in vulgarity, and riot in things attainable that it may not have leisure to go mad after things that are not.
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The roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the window pane are my children. The mighty abstract idea I have of beauty in all things stifles the more divided and minute domestic happiness.
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A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
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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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I have so much of you in my heart.
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O, sorrow! Why dost borrow Heart's lightness from the merriment of May?
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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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Everything that reminds me of her goes through me like a spear.
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I will give you a definition of a proud man: he is a man who has neither vanity nor wisdom one filled with hatreds cannot be vain, neither can he be wise.
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I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute.
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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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Time, that aged nurse, Rocked me to patience.
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Philosophy will clip an angel's wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine - Unweave a rainbow.
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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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I have loved the principle of beauty in all things.
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When I have fears that I may ceace to be, Before my pen has gleaned my teaming brain.
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...yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From out dark spirits.
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The genius of Shakespeare was an innate university.
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