Quote#Pride
I stood tip-toe upon a little hill
Quote byJohn Keats · 1795–1821
Commonly attributed — not confirmed in an authoritative edition. Cited on Wikiquote to: Poems (1817), "I Stood Tiptoe", l. 1.
English (original)
I stood tip-toe upon a little hill, The air was cooling, and so very still, That the sweet buds which with a modest pride Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside, Their scantly leaved, and finely tapering stems, Had not yet lost those starry diadems Caught from the early sobbing of the morn.
— John Keats
More from John Keats
But were there ever any Writh'd 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.
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.
In drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity.
My spirit is too weak — mortality Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep, And each imagin'd 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.
then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.