John Keats: A Literary Biography

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Houghton Mifflin, 1908 - 234 páginas
This 1908 volume offers an overview of the English poet's life and works.

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Página 152 - She dwells with Beauty— Beauty that must die; And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips Bidding adieu...
Página 147 - I know not where to go." xxxvI Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far At these voluptuous accents, he arose, Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing star Seen 'mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose; Into her dream he melted, as the rose Blendeth its odour with the violet, — Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows Like Love's alarum, pattering the sharp sleet Against the window-panes; St. Agnes
Página 120 - I think poetry should surprise by a fine excess, and not by singularity ; it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
Página 106 - The Genius of Poetry must work out its own salvation in a man. It cannot be matured by law and precept, but by sensation and watchfulness in itself. That which is creative must create itself.
Página 161 - I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections and the truth of the imagination.
Página 83 - That which is creative must create itself. In " Endymion" I leaped headlong into the sea, and thereby have become better acquainted with the soundings, the quicksands, and the rocks, than if I had stayed upon the green shore, and piped a silly pipe, and took tea and comfortable advice. I was never afraid of failure; for I would sooner fail than not be among the greatest.
Página 147 - ... but even now Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear, Made tuneable with every sweetest vow ; And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear : How changed thou art ! how pallid, chill, and drear ! Give me that voice again, my Porphyro, Those looks immortal, those complainings dear ! Oh leave me not in this eternal woe, For if thou diest, my Love, I know not where to go.
Página 105 - Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own Works. My own domestic criticism has given me pain without comparison beyond what Blackwood...
Página 167 - Yes, there must be a golden victory ; There must be Gods thrown down, and trumpets blown Of triumph calm, and hymns of festival Upon the gold clouds metropolitan, Voices of soft proclaim, and silver stir Of strings in hollow shells; and there shall be Beautiful things made new, for the surprise Of the sky-children; I will give command: Thea! Thea! Thea! where is Saturn?
Página 127 - Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang As if her song could have no ending; I saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending;— I listened, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.

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