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To bear all naked truths, And to envisage circumstance, all calm, That is the top of sovereignty

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Bears
Envisage
Circumstances
Composure
Circumstance
Sovereignty
Truths
Naked
Calm
Bear

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Dry your eyes O dry your eyes, For I was taught in Paradise To ease my breast of melodies.
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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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Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art-- Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite.
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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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O for the gentleness of old Romance, the simple planning of a minstrel's song!
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I have good reason to be content, for thank God I can read and perhaps understand Shakespeare to his depths.
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Faded the flower and all its budded charms,Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes,Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise!Vanishd unseasonably
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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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My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.
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Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works.
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It ought to come like the leaves to the trees, or it better not come at all.
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I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for their religion-- I have shuddered at it, I shudder no more. I could be martyred for my religion. Love is my religion and I could die for that. I could die for you. My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet.
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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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Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards, And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.
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What shocks the virtuous philosopher, delights the chameleon poet.
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Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, Flushing his brow.
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Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips, bidding adieu
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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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Knowledge enormous makes a God of me. Names, deeds, gray legends, dire events, rebellions, Majesties, sovran voices, agonies, Creations and destroyings, all at once Pour into the wide hollows of my brain, And deify me, as if some blithe wine Or bright elixir peerless I had drunk, And so become immortal.
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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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