Best John Keats Thoughts
- I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet. Boughs
- Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight; With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To… All
- Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards, And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul. Casket
- I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried- "La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall! All
- Dry your eyes O dry your eyes, For I was taught in Paradise To ease my breast of melodies. Breast
- No stir of air was there, Not so much life as on a summer's day Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass, But… Air
- Bards of Passion and of Mirth, Ye have left your souls on earth! Have ye souls in heaven too, Double-lived in regions new? Bards
- The poppies hung Dew-dabbled on their stalks. Dabbled
- The grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead. Dead
- 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 star,… Breath
- I have nothing to speak of but my self-and what can I say but what I feel Feel
- Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted… Abroad
- Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to… Bare
- But the rose leaves herself upon the brier, For winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed. Bees
- Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop From low hung branches; little space they stop; But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek; Then off… Black
- I myself am pursuing the same instinctive course as the veriest human animal you can think of I am, however young, writing at random straining… Animal
- He, who is gone, was one of the very kindest friends I possessed, and yet he was not kinder perhaps to me, than to others.… Been
- You might curb your magnanimity, and be more of an artist, and load every rift of your subject with ore. Artist
- A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness. Beauty
- Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced. Becomes
- You are always new, the last of your kisses was ever the sweetest. Always New
- I love you the more in that I believe you had liked me for my own sake and for nothing else. Believe
- Love is my religion - I could die for it. Deep Love
- Now a soft kiss - Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss. Bliss
- I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections, and the truth of imagination. Affection
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