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
god golden patient slept thine
God of the golden bow, / And of the golden lyre, / And of the golden hair, / And of the golden fire, / Charioteer / Of the patient year, / Where - where slept thine ire?
thank-god dying easy
Severn - I - lift me up - I am dying - I shall die easy; don't be frightened - be firm, and thank God it has come.
reading thank-god depth
I have good reason to be content, for thank God I can read and perhaps understand Shakespeare to his depths.
death thank-god growing
I shall soon be laid in the quiet grave--thank God for the quiet grave--O! I can feel the cold earth upon me--the daisies growing over me--O for this quiet--it will be my first.
death thank-god quiet
I shall soon be laid in the quiet grave - thank God for the quiet grave
budding days flowers later summer until warm
To set budding more, / And still more, later flowers for the bees, / Until they think warm days will never cease, / For summer has o'erbrimmed their clammy cells.
kings poet shall simply
They shall be accounted poet kings / Who simply tell the most heart-easing things.
benign careful fingers soft
O soft embalmer of the still midnight, / Shutting, with careful fingers and benign / Our gloom-pleased eyes.
age draught hath
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cooled a long age in the deep-delvid earth...
half light might shower supreme
A drainless shower / Of light is poesy; 'tis the supreme power; / 'Tis might half slumbering on his own right arm.
boat fragile life monstrous poor sleep steep stop
Stop and consider! life is but a day; A fragile dew-drop on its perilous way From a tree's summit; a poor Indian's sleep While his boat hastens to the monstrous steep Of Montmorenci
dreams immortal pass pleasures smoothly
Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass / Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.
steal
O cruelty, / To steal my Basil-pot away from me!
particular point
Point me out the way / To any one particular beauteous star.