Quote

Call the world if you please the vale of soul-making. Then you will find out the use of the world.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Find
World
Vale
Please
Call
Making
Use
Soul

More quotes by John Keats

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I am sailing with thee through the dizzy sky! How beautiful thou art!
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Dry your eyes O dry your eyes, For I was taught in Paradise To ease my breast of melodies.
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I never can feel certain of any truth, but from a clear perception of its beauty.
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The air is all softness.
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I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.
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Now a soft kiss - Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.
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Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter therefore, ye soft pipes, play on Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone.
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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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The poetry of the earth is never dead.
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Their woes gone by, and both to heaven upflown, To bow for gratitude before Jove's throne.
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--then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
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Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not
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I came to feel how far above All fancy, pride, and fickle maidenhood, All earthly pleasure, all imagined good, Was the warm tremble of a devout kiss.
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Faded the flower and all its budded charms,Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes,Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise!Vanishd unseasonably
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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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Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams The summer time away.
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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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Darkling I listen and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Called him soft names in many a muse' d rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy!
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Load every rift with ore.
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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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