John Keats ( 10 of 38 )
You have ravished me away by a Power I cannot resist; and yet I
could resist till I saw read more
You have ravished me away by a Power I cannot resist; and yet I
could resist till I saw you; and even since I have seen you I
endeavored often "to reason against the reasons of my Love."
O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of read more
O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep,--
Nature's observatory--whence the dell,
In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
'Mongst boughs pavilion'd, where the deer's swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.
And on the balmy zephyrs tranquil rest
The silver clouds.
- John Keats,
And on the balmy zephyrs tranquil rest
The silver clouds.
- John Keats,
He ne'er is crowned with immortality
Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.
He ne'er is crowned with immortality
Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.
He play'd an ancient ditty long since mute,
In Provence call'd, "La belle dame sans merci."
He play'd an ancient ditty long since mute,
In Provence call'd, "La belle dame sans merci."
O, sorrow!
Why dost borrow
Heart's lightness from the merriment of May?
O, sorrow!
Why dost borrow
Heart's lightness from the merriment of May?
I long to believe in immortality. . . . If I am destined to be
happy with you here--how read more
I long to believe in immortality. . . . If I am destined to be
happy with you here--how short is the longest life. I wish to
believe in immortality--I wish to live with you forever.
In a drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy brook,
Thy bubblings ne'er remember
Apollo's summer read more
In a drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy brook,
Thy bubblings ne'er remember
Apollo's summer look;
But with a sweet forgetting,
They stay their crystal fretting,
Never, never petting
About the frozen time.
No, no, I'm sure,
My restless spirit never could endure
To brood so long upon one luxury,
read more
No, no, I'm sure,
My restless spirit never could endure
To brood so long upon one luxury,
Unless it did, though fearfully, espy
A hope beyond the shadow of a dream.
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to read more
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;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core.
