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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.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Spirit
Sensual
Play
Melody
Soft
Endear
Tone
Pipes
Ears
Sweeter
Therefore
Melodies
Sweet
Unheard
Heard
Pipe

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The poetry of the earth is never dead.
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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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Scenery is fine - but human nature is finer.
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Feeling well that breathed words Would all be lost, unheard, and vain as swords Against the enchased crocodile, or leaps Of grasshoppers against the sun.
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... the open sky sits upon our senses like a sapphire crown - the Air is our robe of state - the Earth is our throne, and the Sea a mighty minstrel playing before it.
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If I should die, I have left no immortal work behind me β€” nothing to make my friends proud of my memory β€” 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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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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Ay, on the shores of darkness there is a light, and precipices show untrodden green there is a budding morrow in midnight there is triple sight in blindness keen.
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With a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration.
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Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.
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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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one of the most mysterious of semi-speculations is, one would suppose, that of one Mind's imagining into another
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The poetry of earth is never dead When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide I cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead.
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The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft and gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
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I have met with women whom I really think would like to be married to a Poem and to be given away by a Novel.
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She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around.
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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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Talking of Pleasure, this moment I was writing with one hand, and with the other holding to my Mouth a Nectarine - how good how fine. It went down all pulpy, slushy, oozy, all its delicious embonpoint melted down my throat like a large, beatified Strawberry.
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To one who has been long in city pent, ’Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven, β€” to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
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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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