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No one can usurp the heights... But those to whom the miseries of the world Are misery, and will not let them rest.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Heights
Height
Misery
Rest
World
Usurp
Miseries

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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?
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O latest born and loveliest vision far of all Olympus' faded hierarchy.
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Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest.
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Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not
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I Cannot Exist Without You. I Am Forgetful Of Everything But Seeing You Again.
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Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive.
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My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.
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Poetry should surprise by a fine excess and not by singularity, it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
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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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I have loved the principle of beauty in all things.
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No sooner had I stepp'd into these pleasures Than I began to think of rhymes and measures: The air that floated by me seem'd to say 'Write! thou wilt never have a better day.
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So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries, She seem'd, at once, some penanced lady elf, Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self.
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She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around.
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And there shall be for thee all soft delight That shadowy thought can win, A bright torch, and a casement ope at night, To let the warm Love in!
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It keeps eternal whisperings around desolate shores
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My friends should drink a dozen of Claret on my Tomb.
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'Tis the witching hour of night, Orbed is the moon and bright. And the stars they glisten, glisten, Seeming with bright eyes to listen- For what listen they?
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Shed no tear - O, shed no tear! The flower will bloom another year. Weep no more - O, weep no more! Young buds sleep in the root's white core.
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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 will give you a definition of a proud man: he is a man who has neither vanity nor wisdom one filled with hatreds cannot be vain, neither can he be wise.
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