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Even bees, the little almsmen of spring bowers, know there is richest juice in poison-flowers.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Even
Juice
Bees
Poison
Flowers
Spring
Flower
Littles
Bowers
Little
Richest

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I never can feel certain of any truth, but from a clear perception of its beauty.
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Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time.
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No one can usurp the heights... But those to whom the miseries of the world Are misery, and will not let them rest.
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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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Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget.
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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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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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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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