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In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy brook, Thy bubblings ne'er remember Apollo's summer look But with a sweet forgetting, They stay their crystal fretting, Never, never petting About the frozen time.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Never
Summer
Brook
Time
Sweet
Crystal
Stay
Apollo
Forget
Brooks
Happy
Crystals
Remember
December
Drear
Look
Forgetting
Petting
Looks
Frozen
Fretting
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How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
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All my clear-eyed fish, Golden, or rainbow-sided, or purplish, Vermilion-tail'd, or finn'd with silvery gauze... My charming rod, my potent river spells.
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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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I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.
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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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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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I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute.
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Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
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Who would wish to be among the commonplace crowd of the little famous - who are each individually lost in a throng made up of themselves?
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Souls of poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? Have ye tippled drink more fine Than mine host's Canary wine?
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It can be said of him, when he departed he took a Man's life with him. No sounder piece of British manhood was put together in that eighteenth century of Time.
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My friends should drink a dozen of Claret on my Tomb.
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I Cannot Exist Without You. I Am Forgetful Of Everything But Seeing You Again.
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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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She press'd his hand in slumber so once more He could not help but kiss her and adore.
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Then felt I like some watcher of the skies when a new planet swims into his ken.
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Failure is, in a sense, the highway to success.
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