LAST SONNET

by: John Keats (1795-1821)

      RIGHT 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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