In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity. — John Keats Copy Share Image
Or thou might'st better listen to the wind, Whose language is to thee a barren noise, Though it blows legend-laden through the… — John Keats Copy Share Image
Life is but a day: A fragile dewdrop on its perilious way From a tree's summit — John Keats Copy Share Image
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more… — John Keats Copy Share Image
Life is but a day; A fragile dewdrop on its perilous way From a tree's summit. — John Keats Copy Share Image
The poetry of earth is never dead When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide I cooling trees,… — John Keats Copy Share Image
It ought to come like the leaves to the trees, or it better not come at all. — John Keats Copy Share Image
If poetry does not come as naturally as leaves to a tree, then it better not come at all. — John Keats Copy Share Image
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit… — 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
