John Keats
John Keats
John Keatswas an English Romantic poet. He was one of the main figures of the second generation of Romantic poets, along with Lord Byron and Percy Bysshe Shelley, despite his work having been in publication for only four years before his death...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth31 October 1795
philosophy angel wings
Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.
inspirational reading-poetry remembrance
Poetry should surprise by a fine excess and not by singularity, it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
art excellence literature
The excellency of every art is its intensity, capable of making all disagreeable evaporate.
nature fire heroism
There is an electric fire in human nature tending to purify - so that among these human creatures there is continually some birth of new heroism. The pity is that we must wonder at it, as we should at finding a pearl in rubbish.
men criticism blame
Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works.
men atheism literature
It appears to me that almost any man may like the spider spin from his own inwards his own airy citadel.
feelings enemy literature
The Public - a thing I cannot help looking upon as an enemy, and which I cannot address without feelings of hostility.
hate men grace
Though a quarrel in the streets is a thing to be hated, the energies displayed in it are fine; the commonest man shows a grace in his quarrel.
knights arms thee
Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?
reading thank-god depth
I have good reason to be content, for thank God I can read and perhaps understand Shakespeare to his depths.
whispering shore desolate
It keeps eternal whisperings around desolate shores
dream real long
Real are the dreams of gods, and soothly pass their pleasures in a long immortal dream.
rose fever fading
I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew; And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too.
sweet morning disappointment
Should Disappointment, parent of Despair, Strive for her son to seize my careless heart; When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air, Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart: Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright, And fright him as the morning frightens night!