Wednesday, February 17, 2010

John Keats

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung alot the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No - yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel forever its soft fall and swell,
Awake forever in a sweet unrest
Still, to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.

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