John Keats Quotes

• I know the colour of that blood; it is arterial blood; I cannot be deceived in that colour; that drop of blood is my death-warrant—I must die.

  John Keats

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• Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.

  John Keats

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• Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!

  John Keats

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• Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Called him soft names in many a muse’d rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy!

  John Keats

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• Fast fading violets covered up in leaves; And mid-May’s eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

  John Keats

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• Already with thee! tender is the night.

  John Keats

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• Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs.

  John Keats

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• O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cooled a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim.

  John Keats

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• My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: ’Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

  John Keats

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• Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!

  John Keats

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• O Attic shape! Fair attitude!

  John Keats

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• She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

  John Keats

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• What men or Gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

  John Keats

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• Thou still unravished bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time.

  John Keats

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• Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too.

  John Keats

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• Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run.

  John Keats

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• That large utterance of the early Gods.

  John Keats

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• But oh! How unlike marble was that face.

  John Keats

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• Where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.

  John Keats

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• 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, Sat gray-haired Saturn, quiet as a stone, Still as the silence round about his lair.

  John Keats

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John Keats (162)

Birth:	31st October, 1795
Death:	23rd February, 1821
Nationality:	British
Profession:	Poet

About

John Keats was born in London, England. He was an English Romantic poet who devoted his short life to the perfection of a poetry marked by vivid imagery, great sensuous appeal, and an attempt to express a philosophy through classical legend. Having finished his apprenticeship with Hammond, he registered as a medical student at Guy's Hospital, now part of King's College London and began studying there in October 1815. He wrote several poems include: Endymion, Hyperion, Lamia, To Autumn, Isabella, the Eve of St. Agnes, and Ode to a Nightingale.

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