Few poets produced more great poetry at an earlier age than John Keats.
Category: All Things Cosmic
The very thing(s) you claim to possess might very well be possessing you instead.
Enjoy the change of the seasons. Autumn is summer saying good-bye in its most glorious garment.
This is possibly the saddest poem I have ever read.
“There is an ancient myth in this feature, that of the ‘true language’, the tongue in which there is a thing for each word and a word for each thing, and in which signifier then naturally has power over signified.”
