Quote

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.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Young
Fill
Playmates
Enter
Columbine
Latter
Savory
Golden
Daffodil
Careful
Pines
Rose
Balm
Green
Mint
High
Baskets

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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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Knowledge enormous makes a God of me. Names, deeds, gray legends, dire events, rebellions, Majesties, sovran voices, agonies, Creations and destroyings, all at once Pour into the wide hollows of my brain, And deify me, as if some blithe wine Or bright elixir peerless I had drunk, And so become immortal.
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Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips, bidding adieu
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I never can feel certain of any truth, but from a clear perception of its beauty.
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Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?
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The genius of Shakespeare was an innate university.
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was it a vision or a waking dream? Fled is that music--do I wake or sleep?
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I should write for the mere yearning and fondness I have for the beautiful, even if my night's labors should be burnt every morning and no eye shine upon them.
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I Cannot Exist Without You. I Am Forgetful Of Everything But Seeing You Again.
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But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings That fill the sky with silver glitterings!
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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 love your hills and I love your dales, And I love your flocks a-bleating but oh, on the heather to lie together, With both our hearts a-beating!
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Poetry should be great and unobtrusive, a thing which enters into one's soul, and does not startle it or amaze it with itself, but with its subject.
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I myself am pursuing the same instinctive course as the veriest human animal you can think of I am, however young, writing at random straining at particles of light in the midst of a great darkness without knowing the bearing of any one assertion, of any one opinion. Yet may I not in this be free from sin?
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The poetry of the earth is never dead.
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... the open sky sits upon our senses like a sapphire crown - the Air is our robe of state - the Earth is our throne, and the Sea a mighty minstrel playing before it.
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You are always new to me.
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Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive.
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O magic sleep! O comfortable bird, That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind Till it is hush'd and smooth!
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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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