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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.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Dead
Birds
Tree
Hide
Voice
Hot
Running
Trees
Mead
Earth
Environmental
Grasshoppers
Never
Bird
Cooling
Sun
Hedge
Poetry
Faint
More quotes by John Keats
My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.
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What shocks the virtuous philosopher, delights the chameleon poet.
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There is an awful warmth about my heart like a load of immortality.
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Young playmates of the rose and daffodil, Be careful ere ye enter in, to fill Your baskets high With fennel green, and balm, and golden pines Savory latter-mint, and columbines.
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And shade the violets, That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.
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it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously - I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.
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I shall soon be laid in the quiet grave--thank God for the quiet grave--O! I can feel the cold earth upon me--the daisies growing over me--O for this quiet--it will be my first.
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How does the poet speak to men with power, but by being still more a man than they
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Nothing is finer for the purposes of great productions than a very gradual ripening of the intellectual powers.
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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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Call the world if you please the vale of soul-making. Then you will find out the use of the world.
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I find I cannot exist without Poetry
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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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Its better to lose your ego to the One you Love than to lose the One you Love to your Ego
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How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
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There is an electric fire in human nature tending to purify - so that among these human creatures there is continually some birth of new heroism. The pity is that we must wonder at it, as we should at finding a pearl in rubbish.
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My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk.
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Dancing music, music sad, Both together, sane and mad.
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A drainless shower Of light is poesy: 'tis the supreme of power 'Tis might half slumbering on its own right arm.
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A moment's thought is passion's passing knell.
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