How does the poet speak to men with power, but by being still more a man than they — John Keats Copy Share Image
With a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration. — John Keats Copy Share Image
“A poet is the most unpoetical of anything in existence because he has no identity-he is continually infirming and filling some other… — John Keats Copy Share Image
Souls of poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? Have… — John Keats Copy Share Image
... Who alive can say 'Thou art no Poet - mayst not tell thy dreams'? Since every man whose soul is not… — John Keats Copy Share Image
This Grave contains all that was Mortal of a Young English Poet Who on his Death Bed in the Bitterness of his… — 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
“Think of my Pleasure in Solitude, in comparison of my commerce with the world - there I am a child - there… — 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
