I do think better of womankind than to suppose they care whether Mister John Keats five feet high likes them or not.

Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes.

When shall we pass a day alone? I have had a thousand kisses, for which with my whole soul I thank love - but if you should deny me the thousand and first - 'twould put me to the proof how great a misery I could live through.

Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity...

Who fished the murex up? / What porridge had John Keats?

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, / Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs.