John Keats Quotes

• And they are gone: aye, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm.

  John Keats

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• And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor.

  John Keats

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• He played an ancient ditty, long since mute, In Provence called, ‘La belle dame sans mercy’.

  John Keats

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• As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.

  John Keats

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• By degrees Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees.

  John Keats

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• Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeleine’s fair breast, As down she knelt for heaven’s grace and boon; Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, And on her silver cross soft amethyst, And on her hair a glory like a saint: She seemed a splendid angel, newly drest, Save wings, for heaven.

  John Keats

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• A casement high and triple-arched there was, All garlanded with carven imag’ries Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass, And diamonded with panes of quaint device, Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes, As are the tiger-moth’s deep-damasked wings.

  John Keats

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• A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard thing.

  John Keats

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• Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, Flushing his brow, and in his painted heart Made purple riot.

  John Keats

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• The music, yearning like a God in pain.

  John Keats

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• And soft adorings from their loves receive Upon the honeyed middle of the night.

  John Keats

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• The silver, snarling trumpets ’gan to chide.

  John Keats

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• St. Agnes’ Eve—Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; The hare limped trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold.

  John Keats

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• ‘To steal my Basil-pot away from me.’

  John Keats

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• And she forgot the stars, the moon, and sun, And she forgot the blue above the trees, And she forgot the dells where waters run, And she forgot the chilly autumn breeze; She had no knowledge when the day was done, And the new morn she saw not: but in peace Hung over her sweet Basil evermore, And moistened it with tears unto the core.

  John Keats

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• So the two brothers and their murdered man Rode past fair Florence.

  John Keats

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• Why were they proud? again we ask aloud, Why in the name of Glory were they proud?

  John Keats

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• In pale contented sort of discontent.

  John Keats

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• That purple-lined palace of sweet sin.

  John Keats

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• Love in a hut, with water and a crust, Is—Love, forgive us!—cinders, ashes, dust; Love in a palace is perhaps at last More grievous torment than a hermit’s fast.

  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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