Maxioms by John Keats
Where the nightingale doth sing
Not a senseless, tranced thing,
But divine melodious truth.
Where the nightingale doth sing
Not a senseless, tranced thing,
But divine melodious truth.
Poetry should... should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
Poetry should... should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
The poetry of the earth is never dead.
The poetry of the earth is never dead.
Each Bond-street buck conceits, unhappy elf;
He shows his clothes! alas! he shows himself.
O that they read more
Each Bond-street buck conceits, unhappy elf;
He shows his clothes! alas! he shows himself.
O that they knew, these overdrest self-lovers,
What hides the body oft the mind discovers.
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."
