Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect. John Keats More Quotes by John Keats More Quotes From John Keats Already with thee! tender is the night. . . But here there is no light. . . John Keats tender-is-the-nightlightnight Soft closer of our eyes! Low murmur of tender lullabies! John Keats eyesleeplows 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 by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers. John Keats flowerhairwind So let me be thy choir, and make a moan Upon the midnight hours. John Keats choirhoursmidnight Where soil is, men grow, Whether to weeds or flowers. John Keats weedflowermen Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold. John Keats realmsgold I have good reason to be content, for thank God I can read and perhaps understand Shakespeare to his depths. John Keats thank-goddepthreading I think I shall be among the English Poets after my death. John Keats poetthinking The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide. John Keats trumpetssilvermusic Young playmates of the rose and daffodil, Be careful ere ye enter in, to fill Your baskets high With fennel green, and balm, and golden pines Savory latter-mint, and columbines. John Keats goldengreenrose Bards of Passion and of Mirth, Ye have left your souls on earth! Have ye souls in heaven too, Double-lived in regions new? John Keats passionsoulheaven A poet is the most unpoetical of anything in existence; because he has no identity he is continually informing and filling some other body. John Keats poetryidentityliterature 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 where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest. John Keats naturelightsummer Its better to lose your ego to the One you Love than to lose the One you Love to your Ego John Keats one-you-lovelosesego I stood tip-toe upon a little hill, The air was cooling, and so very still, That the sweet buds which with a modest pride Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside, Their scantly leaved, and finely tapering stems, Had not yet lost those starry diadems Caught from the early sobbing of the morn. John Keats curvespridesweet 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! John Keats dameswarriorkings I scarcely remember counting upon happiness—I look not for it if it be not in the present hour—nothing startles me beyond the moment. The setting sun will always set me to rights, or if a sparrow come before my Window I take part in its existence and pick about the gravel. John Keats sparrowsrightslooks I am certain I have not a right feeling towards women -- at this moment I am striving to be just to them, but I cannot. Is it because they fall so far beneath my boyish imagination? When I was a schoolboy I thought a fair woman a pure Goddess; my mind was a soft nest in which some one of them slept, though she knew it not. John Keats womenimaginationfall The opinion I have of the generality of women--who appear to me as children to whom I would rather give a sugar plum than my time, forms a barrier against matrimony which I rejoice in. John Keats womengivingchildren I had a dove and the sweet dove died; And I have thought it died of grieving: O, what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied, With a silken thread of my own hands' weaving. John Keats grievingsweethands
