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John Keats quotes - page 6
Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams The summer time away.
John Keats
I must choose between despair and Energy──I choose the latter.
John Keats
Alas! when passion is both meek and wild!
John Keats
The air is all softness.
John Keats
Already with thee! tender is the night.
John Keats
I have a habitual feeling of my real life having past, and that I am now leading a posthumous existence.
John Keats
I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew; And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too.
John Keats
I find I cannot exist without Poetry.
John Keats
Poetry should... should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance".
John Keats
Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes.
John Keats
As though a rose should shut and be a bud again.
John Keats
Woman! when I behold thee flippant, vain, Inconstant, childish, proud, and full of fancies.
John Keats
E'en like the passage of an angel's tear That falls through the clear ether silently.
John Keats
The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone! Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast.
John Keats
And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon.
John Keats
Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toil me back from thee to my sole self!
John Keats
So many, and so many, and such glee.
John Keats
They will explain themselves - as all poems should do without any comment.
John Keats
She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around, At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears - Down the wide stairs a darkling way they found. - In all the house was heard no human sound. A chain-droop'd lamp was flickering by each door; The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound, Flutter'd in the besieging wind's uproar; And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor.
John Keats
Call the world if you please "The vale of soul-making."
John Keats
Souls of Poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?
John Keats
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies.
John Keats
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