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Quote by John Keats

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The Complete Poetry of John Keats: Ode on a Grecian Urn + Ode to a Nightingale + Hyperion + Endymion + The Eve of St. Agnes + Isabella + Ode to Psyche + Lamia + Sonnets and more from one of the most beloved English Romantic poets

The Complete Poetry of John Keats is a comprehensive compilation of the works of John Keats, a prominent figure in English Romantic literature. This volume includes a selection of his most celebrated poems, such as 'Ode on a Grecian Urn,' 'Ode to a Nightingale,' and 'The Eve of St. Agnes.' It also encompasses other notable works like 'Hyperion,' 'Endymion,' 'Isabella,' 'Ode to Psyche,' 'Lamia,' and a collection of sonnets. Keats' poetry is renowned for its beauty, emotional depth, and philosophical musings, making this collection a valuable resource for readers interested in the Romantic movement and the works of one of its most beloved poets. more

Author

John Keats
John Keats

John Keats, a British Romantic poet, was born on October 31, 1795, and died on February 23, 1821. Known for his profound depictions of nature, love, and death, Keats' poetry is characterized by its fresh style and sincere emotion, exerting a profound influence on poets of later generations. more

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“The snow lay thin and apologetic over the world. That wide grey sweep was the lawn, with the straggling trees of the orchard still dark beyond; the white squares were the roofs of the garage, the old barn, the rabbit hutches, the chicken coops. Further back there were only the flat fields of Dawson's farm, dimly white-striped. All the broad sky was grey, full of more snow that refused to fall. There was no colour anywhere.”

“But as the scissors snip-snapped through her hair and the razor shaved the rest, she realized with a sudden awful panic that she could no longer recall anything from the past. I cannot remember, she whispered to herself. I cannot remember. She's been shorn of memory as brutally as she'd been shorn of her hair, without permission, without reason... Gone, all gone, she thought again wildly, no longer even sure what was gone, what she was mourning.”

“He didn't know of course. Not really. And yet that was what he said, and I was soothed to hear it. For I knew what he meant. We all have our sorrows, and although the exact delineaments, weight, and dimensions of grief are different for everyone, the color of grief is common to us all. "I know," he said, because he was human, and therefore, in a way, he did.”

“Heads in the Women's Ward On pillow after pillow lies The wild white hair and staring eyes; Jaws stand open; necks are stretched With every tendon sharply sketched; A bearded mouth talks silently To someone no one else can see. Sixty years ago they smiled At lover, husband, first-born child. Smiles are for youth. For old age come Death's terror and delirium.”