#last sonnet

[painispainxo]

[lassdieschoenheitdichumarmen]

Last Sonnet by John Keats

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.

[decaforhightest]

"Last Sonnet" by John Keats

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.

[colourthysoul]

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.

John Keats - Last Sonnet

[meanderingsofmeaning]

Last Sonnet

Life is tied

to the mud.

I have tried

to sew my blood

with words for thread

to your eyes and ears

through the dead

space that steers

you to this line.

These words are yours to sing,

they are not mine;

I never finish anything