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The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft and gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Listening
Whistles
Swallows
Skies
Gathering
Twitter
Sky
Garden

More quotes by John Keats

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You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving.
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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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I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too.
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A man should have the fine point of his soul taken off to become fit for this world.
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Open afresh your rounds of starry folds, Ye ardent Marigolds.
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Blessed is the healthy nature it is the coherent, sweetly co-operative, not incoherent, self-distracting, self-destructive one!
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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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... Who alive can say 'Thou art no Poet - mayst not tell thy dreams'? Since every man whose soul is not a clod Hath visions, and would speak, if he had loved, And been well nurtured in his mother tongue.
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Time, that aged nurse, Rocked me to patience.
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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 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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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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I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.
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And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes.
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The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide.
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I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart’s affections and the truth of the Imagination – What the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth – whether it existed before or not – for I have the same Idea of all our Passions as of Love they are all in their sublime, creative of essential Beauty . . .
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Here lies one whose name was writ in water.
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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.
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Knowledge enormous makes a god of me.
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