The Poems of John Keats, Volume 1

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Dodd, Mead, 1905 - 613 pages
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User Review  - P_S_Patrick - LibraryThing

There is northing comparable to this as far as top notch poetry is concerned. I picked this book up as a last minute purchase, due to a buy two get third free offer a few years ago, and yet this book ... Read full review

LibraryThing Review

User Review  - a211423 - LibraryThing

"A thing of beauty is a joy forever;/ Its loveliness increases; it will never/ Pass into nothingness; but still will keep/ A bower quiet for us." Keats poetry is this. Read full review

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Page 193 - Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
Page xxxvii - I am certain of nothing but of the holiness of the Heart's affections and the truth of Imagination— What the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth— whether it existed before or not...
Page 475 - What things have we seen Done at the Mermaid! heard words that have been So nimble and so full of subtle flame, As if that every one from whence they came Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest And had resolved to live a fool the rest Of his dull life!
Page 203 - To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel...
Page 193 - O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty," — that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
Page 36 - Homer ruled as his demesne : Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He...
Page 192 - THOU still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow- time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
Page 189 - 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...
Page 203 - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music, too, While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue...
Page 187 - Tis dark: quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet: " This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline ! " 'Tis dark: the iced gusts still rave and beat: " No dream, alas ! alas ! and woe is mine ! Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine. — Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring? I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine, Though thou forsakest a deceived thing — A dove forlorn and lost with sick unpruned wing.

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