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Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, Flushing his brow.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Like
Brow
Brows
Blown
Sudden
Rose
Full
Came
Thought
Flushing

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An extensive knowledge is needful to thinking people-it takes away the heat and fever and helps, by widening speculation, to ease the burden of the mystery.
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Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest.
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A long poem is a test of invention which I take to be the Polar star of poetry, as fancy is the sails, and imagination the rudder.
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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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Scenery is fine - but human nature is finer.
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But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings That fill the sky with silver glitterings!
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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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Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.
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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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That which is creative must create itself.
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Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.
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Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams The summer time away.
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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 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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How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
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--then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
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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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You are always new. The last of your kisses was even the sweetest the last smile the brightest the last movement the gracefullest.
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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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With a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration.
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