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John Keats : Bright Star

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—
	Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
	Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite1,
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 stedfast, still unchangeable,
	Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel forever its soft fall and swell,
	Awake forever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever—or else swoon to death.

John Keats (1795-1821)	P. 1838

1hermit ;

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