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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 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 stedfast, 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. – John Keats (1819)