The Complete Poems of John Keats

The visions all are fled--the car is fled
Into the light of heaven, and in their stead
A sense of real things comes doubly strong,
And, like a muddy stream, would bear along
My soul to nothingness: but I will strive
Against all doublings, and will keep alive
The thought of that same chariot, and the strange
Journey it went.

Sleep and Poetry

But, when I am consumed in the fire,
Give me new Phoenix wings to fly at my desire.

Twas love; cold, - dead indeed, but not dethroned.

Isabella

Even bees, the little almsmen of spring-bowers,
Know there is richest juice in poison-flowers.

There lies a den,
Beyond the seeming confines of the space
Made for the soul to wander in and trace
Its own existence, of remotest glooms.
Dark regions are around it, where the tombs
Of buried griefs the spirit sees, but scarce
One hour doth linger weeping, for the pierce
Of new-born woe it feels more inly smart:
And in these regions many a venom’d dart
At random flies; they are the proper home
Of every ill: the man is yet to come
Who hath not journeyed in this native hell.

Endymion

Echo hence shall stir no sighs but sigh-warm kisses, or light noise of thy combing hand, the while it traveling cloys and trembles through my labirinthine hair.

Endymion

The Dove

I had a dove, and the sweet dove died;
And I have thought it died of grieving:
Oh, what could it grieve for? its feet were tied
With a silken thread of my own hands’ weaving.
Sweet little red feet! Why should you die—
Why would you leave me, sweet bird! why?
You lived alone in the forest tree;
Why, pretty thing! would you not live with me?
I kiss’d you oft and gave you white peas;
Why not live sweetly, as in the green trees?

“But cannot I create?
“Cannot I form? Cannot I fashion forth
“Another world, another universe,
“To overbear and crumble this to nought?
“Where is another chaos? Where?"

Hyperion, the words of Saturn