FastSaying
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness; but still will keep a bower quiet for us, and a sleep full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing...
John Keats
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Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness
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Oh what can ail thee, wretched wight, / Alone and palely loitering; / The sedge is withered from the lake, / And no birds sing.
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Should ever the fine-eyed maid to me be kind; Ah! surely it must be whenever I find; Some flowery spot, sequestered, wild, romantic; That often must have seen a poet frantic.
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Much have I traveled in the realms of gold, and many goodly states and kingdoms seen.
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A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness.
— John Keats
Beauty
Forever
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