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The imagination of a boy is healthy, and the mature imagination of a man is healthy; but there is a space of life between, in which the soul is in a ferment, the character undecided, the way of life uncertain, the ambition thick-sighted: thence proceeds mawkishness.: Endymion
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty,”—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
A thing of beauty is a joy forever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness.
: Endymion
Ever let the Fancy roam,
Pleasure never is at home.
Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave
A paradise for a sect.
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter.
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He star'd at the Pacific—and all his men
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise—
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced—even a proverb is no proverb to you till your life has illustrated it.
Do not all charms fly
At the mere touch of cold philosphy?
. . .
Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings,
Conquer all mysteries by rule and line,
Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine—
Unweave a rainbow.
Poetry should surprise by a fine excess, and not by singularity; it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.