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Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:--do I wake or sleep?
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Music
Vision
Waking
Fled
Sides
Streams
Anthem
Sleep
Buried
Meadows
Next
Hills
Valley
Dream
Near
Hill
Past
Wake
Stream
Plaintive
Stills
Deep
Fades
Adieu
Still
Side
Valleys
Nightingales
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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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The Public - a thing I cannot help looking upon as an enemy, and which I cannot address without feelings of hostility.
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I wish you could invent some means to make me at all happy without you. Every hour I am more and more concentrated in you everything else tastes like chaff in my mouth.
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My friends should drink a dozen of Claret on my Tomb.
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Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings.
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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.
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Give me books, French wine, fruit, fine weather and a little music played out of doors by somebody I do not know.
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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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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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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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Dancing music, music sad, Both together, sane and mad.
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The world is too brutal for me-I am glad there is such a thing as the grave-I am sure I shall never have any rest till I get there.
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I don't need the stars in the night I found my treasure All I need is you by my side so shine forever
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When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance.
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I do think better of womankind than to suppose they care whether Mister John Keats five feet high likes them or not.
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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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