Bright Star, Would I
Were Steadfast as Thou Art
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
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 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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