Lines from Endymion (John Keats Poem)
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loviliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still ...
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loviliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still ...
Physician Nature! Let my spirit blood! O ease my heart of verse and let me rest; Throw me upon thy ...
IN a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity: The north cannot undo them, ...
O SORROW! Why dost borrow The natural hue of health, from vermeil lips?-- To give maiden blushes To the white ...
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its lovliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still ...
O Sovereign power of love! O grief! O balm! All records, saving thine, come cool, and calm, And shadowy, through ...
I. Fair Isabel, poor simple Isabel! Lorenzo, a young palmer in Love's eye! They could not in the self-same mansion ...
There are who lord it o'er their fellow-men With most prevailing tinsel: who unpen Their baaing vanities, to browse away ...
Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse! O first-born on the mountains! by the hues Of heaven on the spiritual ...
O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap Of murky buildings: climb ...
ENDYMION. A Poetic Romance. "THE STRETCHED METRE OF AN AN ANTIQUE SONG." INSCRIBED TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS CHATTERTON. Book ...
BOOK I Deep in the shady sadness of a vale Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, Far from ...
Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; There are four seasons in the mind of man: He has his ...
In drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity: The north cannot undo them With ...
O solitude! if I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap Of murky buildings; climb ...
The poetry of earth is never dead: When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in ...
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A ...
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some ...
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