John Keats Quotes

Asleep in lap of legends old. I shall soon be laid in the quiet grave - thank God for the quiet grave When the melancholy fit shall fall Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, And hides the green hill in an April shroud; Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose. Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun. The roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the window pane are my children. 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. A man should have the fine point of his soul taken off to become fit for this world. To bear all naked truths, And to envisage circumstance, all calm, That is the top of sovereignty Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; There are four seasons in the mind of man: He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear Takes in all beauty with an easy span: He has his Summer, when luxuriously Spring's honey'd cud of youthful thought he loves To ruminate, and by such dreaming high Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings He furleth close; contented so to look On mists in idleness�'to let fair things Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook. He has his Winter too of pale mis Philosophy will clip an angel's wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine - Unweave a rainbow. To one who has been long in city pent, 'Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven, �' to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament. Open afresh your rounds of starry folds, Ye ardent Marigolds. Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive. She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around... You cannot conceive how I ache to be with you: how I would die for one hour... Thou art a dreaming thing, A fever of thyself. Let us away, my love, with happy speed; There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, - Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead. Awake! arise! my love and fearless be, For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee. I am sailing with thee through the dizzy sky! How beautiful thou art! Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams The summer time away. And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes. Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams, Lover of loneliness, and wandering, Of upcast eye, and tender pondering! Thee must I praise above all other glories That smile us on to tell delightful stories. 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. When it is moving on luxurious wings, The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings. I have had a thousand kisses, for which with my whole soul I thank love�'but if you should deny me the thousand and first�''t would put me to the proof how great a misery I could live through. If I should die, I have left no immortal work behind me �' nothing to make my friends proud of my memory �' but I have loved the principle of beauty in all things, and if I had had time I would have made myself remembered. Nothing ever becomes real till experienced �' even a proverb is no proverb until your life has illustrated it Don't be discouraged by a failure. It can be a positive experience. Pleasure is oft a visitant; but pain Clings cruelly to us. Ay, on the shores of darkness there is a light, and precipices show untrodden green; there is a budding morrow in midnight; there is triple sight in blindness keen. I have a habitual feeling of my real life having past, and that I am now leading a posthumous existence.