Talking of Pleasure, this moment I was writing with one hand, and with the other holding to my Mouth a Nectarine -… — John Keats Copy Share Image
I had a dove and the sweet dove died; And I have thought it died of grieving: O, what could it grieve… — John Keats Copy Share Image
We hate poetry that has a palpable design upon us - and if we do not agree, seems to put its hand… — John Keats Copy Share Image
For Poesy alone can tell her dreams, With the fine spell of words alone can save Imagination from the sable charm And… — John Keats Copy Share Image
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live… — John Keats Copy Share Image
She press'd his hand in slumber; so once more He could not help but kiss her and adore. — John Keats Copy Share Image
When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Before high-piled books, in… — John Keats Copy Share Image
His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead, Unsceptred; and his realmless eyes were closed; — John Keats Copy Share Image
This living hand, now warm and capable Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold And in the icy silence of the… — John Keats Copy Share Image
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever;It's loveliness increase;it will never pass into nothingness;but still will keep a bower quiet for us,and… — John Keats Copy Share Image
There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture; she is given In the dull catalogue of common things.… — John Keats Copy Share Image
“I was never afraid of failure; for I would sooner fail than not be among the greatest.” — John Keats Copy Share Image
Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In… — John Keats Copy Share Image
Deep in the shady sadness of a vale Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, Far from the fiery noon and eve's one… — John Keats Copy Share Image
I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for their religion - I have shudder'd at it. I shudder no more. I could… — John Keats Copy Share Image
Dance and Provencal song and sunburnt mirth! On for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene! With… — John Keats Copy Share Image
Many have original minds who do not think it - they are led away by custom! — John Keats Copy Share Image
