There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture; she is given In the dull catalogue of… — John Keats Copy Share Image
“Four seasons fill the measure of the year; There are four seasons in the mind of Man: He has his lusty Spring,… — John Keats Copy Share Image
Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight; With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at… — John Keats Copy Share Image
When it is moving on luxurious wings, The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings. — John Keats Copy Share Image
Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop From low hung branches; little space they stop; But sip, and twitter, and their feathers… — John Keats Copy Share Image
Philosophy will clip an angel's wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine - Unweave… — John Keats Copy Share Image
But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings That fill the sky with silver glitterings! — John Keats Copy Share Image
I equally dislike the favor of the public with the love of a woman - they are both a cloying treacle to… — 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
