John Keats

"Bright star! would I were stedfast as thou art — Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching with eternal lids apart, Like natures patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earths human shores."

"Here lies one whose name was writ in water."

"My chest of books divide amongst my friends."

"My spirit is too weak — mortality Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep, And each imagind pinnacle and steep Of godlike hardship tells me I must die Like a sick Eagle looking at the sky."

"Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong, And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song."

"It keeps eternal whisperings around Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell Gluts twice ten thousand Caverns, till the spell Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound."

"But were there ever any Writhd not of passed joy? The feel of not to feel it, When there is none to heal it, Nor numbed sense to steel it, Was never said in rhyme."

"Shed no tear! O shed no tear! The flower will bloom another year. Weep no more! O weep no more! Young buds sleep in the roots white core."

"This living hand, now warm and capable Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold And in the icy silence of the tomb, So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood So in my veins red life might stream again, And thou be conscience-calmd — see here it is — I hold it towards you."

"None can usurp this height... But those to whom the miseries of the world Are misery, and will not let them rest."

"The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone! Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast."

"My indignation at Mr. Keatss depreciation of Pope has hardly permitted me to do justice to his own genius, which, malgre all the fantastic fopperies of his style, was undoubtedly of great promise. His fragment of Hyperion seems actually inspired by the Titans, and is as sublime as Aeschylus. He is a loss to our literature."