John Keats



                   Last Sonnet


                   Bright Star, would I were steadfast as thou art —
                   Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
                   And watching, with eternal lids apart,
                   Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite,
                   The moving waters at their priest-like 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 for ever its soft fall and swell,
                   Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
                   Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
                   And so live ever — or else swoon to death.


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