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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.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Golden
Daffodil
Careful
Pines
Rose
Balm
Green
Mint
High
Baskets
Young
Fill
Playmates
Enter
Columbine
Latter
Savory
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Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest.
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The thought, the deadly thought of solitude.
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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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Dancing music, music sad, Both together, sane and mad.
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It keeps eternal whisperings around desolate shores
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An extensive knowledge is needful to thinking people-it takes away the heat and fever and helps, by widening speculation, to ease the burden of the mystery.
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The air is all softness.
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When I have fears that I may ceace to be, Before my pen has gleaned my teaming brain.
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O let me lead her gently o'er the brook, Watch her half-smiling lips and downward look O let me for one moment touch her wrist Let me one moment to her breathing list And as she leaves me, may she often turn Her fair eyes looking through her locks auburne.
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Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect.
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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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To stay youthful, stay useful.
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Failure is, in a sense, the highway to success.
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I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for their religion-- I have shuddered at it, I shudder no more. I could be martyred for my religion. Love is my religion and I could die for that. I could die for you. My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet.
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Don't be discouraged by a failure. It can be a positive experience.
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And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes.
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My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains/ My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk.
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Scenery is fine - but human nature is finer.
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But the rose leaves herself upon the brier, For winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed.
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