There is an old saying "well begun is half done" - 'tis a bad one. I would use instead, "Not begun at all till half done;" so according to that I have not begun my Poem and consequently (a priori) can say nothing about it.
John KeatsI find I cannot exist without Poetry
John KeatsFor Poesy alone can tell her dreams,
With the fine spell of words alone can save
Imagination from the sable charm
And dumb enchantment. Who alive can say,
‘Thou art no Poet may’st not tell thy dreams?’
Since every man whose soul is not a clod
Hath visions, and would speak, if he had loved
And been well nurtured in his mother tongue.
Whether the dream now purpos’d to rehearse
Be poet’s or fanatic’s will be known
When this warm scribe my hand is in the grave.
Mots clés ars-poetica
I will clamber through the clouds and exist.
John KeatsO that our dreamings all, of sleep or wake,
Would all their colours from the sunset take:
From something of material sublime,
Rather than shadow our own soul's day-time
In the dark void of night. For in the world
We jostle, - but my flag is not unfurl'd...
Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest.
John KeatsI will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.
John KeatsThou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity...
Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
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Pleasure is oft a visitant; but pain
Clings cruelly to us.
Mots clés life
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