“Bright Star! Would I were steadfast as thou art- Not in long splendor, hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart… Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast, To feel forever it’s soft fall and swell… Still, still to hear her tender taken breath, And so live ever- or else swoon to death.”
“Bright Star” by John Keats
Hampstead, England, 1819
I
The heart’s affections remain eternal-
It’s gaze endures, without conscience knowing.
For at her family’s dinner table dines,
My lady, a soul furnished naturally
With wings. adorned in pretty ribbons blue,
Pleated ruffles, made from her designs.
II
‘Tis Fanny that I speak of, lady of life,
A woman loved by her society.
The girl I see through passion’s rosy eyes.
I could not wed, ‘twas ill advised.
Lest love should burn me up, capture my mind,
With not a penny in my purse to find.
III
Steadfast were thee in comforting to me,
In darkness and despair and death and dread,
When I found with sorrowful soul, dear Tom dead.
My Brother, killed by consumption's red hand.
Long were our conversations and our walks,
Long were the days of heady tears and talks.
IV
Such gentle smiling lips, like stars are bright,
With your hand press’d in mine, I felt my grief
Near melt’d in dawn’s welcoming light,
Giving end to my cold winter’s night.
To tender affection I could not part,
To my passions I could no longer fight.
V
Upon the mask of a new winter’s glow,
I meant the words I told from me to you,
As I spoke my heart’s truth “I love thee true”
Dear, did my ear mishear “I love you too”?
Love, could there be a part to love in me?
A man with no fine looks out side to see!
VI
When you took me in your arms for a kiss,
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies,
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes,
He starr’d the Pacific- a new world bliss-
As I rest my love on lip’s red border
And felt heaven sigh in a sweet release.
VII
My love had snow’s ashes in her raven
Hair, like spangles in a midnight skyline,
Fallen on her cheeks like a crystal vine.
Sweet voice, sweet lips, warm breath, soft semi-tone.
I want a brighter word, more than brightest, a
Fairer word than fairest! My dear Bright Star!
VIII
Winter melted into spring, and spring warm’d
Into Summer, and the morning bird sings.
In your arms, I was among the sublime,
As trees loom’d like honey’d meads, stoic
Seas to lively streams. I still had not a cent
So, to The Isle of Wright I went to rent.
IX
As I read your letters, rich like poppies,
Filled me with longing, as only you could,
As I thought of you and my final death,
Receiving your presence in every breath.
The poet has his lusty Spring, when his
Creativity clear, then was my Spring.
X
Within love’s happy state of tended rest,
Dissolving into Venus’s gentle breast,
I wished we were butterflies and liv’d but
Three summer days. Three days with you I could
Fill with more contentment than fifty years
Could ever hold, only there would I die.
XI
Autumn saw me back, your lily hand I held
To slip a garnet ring, so we foreswore
“My life belongs to you, forever dans L’amour”
The world would see our future union felled,
By my purse’s penniless profession.
Care not though, Star, and love me in secret.
XII
The night was bitter, dark, and damp, the wind,
The tearing, spitting, vile, winter stead.
The night alone frayed at bone like frost.
I had business, I had to go to town
Without my greatcoat on, but at great cost.
I came home swaying like a wasted drunk.
XIII
Stumbling through the house heaving, coughing as
If I’d drowned. Upon the bed sheets I saw
The color I know well, Arterial blood,
My death warrent’s read. My first thought was you.
Of course! In the height of love and prose,
Dreadful chance should pluck my soul like a rose!
XIV
I can not kiss you, so write me “good night”
I can not see you, come to the window by my bed,
Or sit with me, only more from afar.
Talk with me, bring your work, needle and thread
Or rhapsodize me with talk of French silks.
And laugh over something you’ve just said.
XV
There’s frost at the glass, sweat upon my brow.
It’s so cold, Star, must you go out now?
Do not tease me with your ample social sphere.
Soothe me, write me letters as you’ll allow.
My life falls dull, and you’re my only home.
You can no longer see me often, Dear.
XVI
You say you do not mind being by my
Side. Still, your eyes fade when my cough is harder,
I see your forlorn looks from the parlor.
I’ve imprison’d you too long, go out, Love.
No, stay, and tend me still, I need you here.
No, I’ve caged you here, you’re no turtledove.
XVII
As Seasons wears, my breath grows weaker still,
This medicine, should cure me soon, they say.
Look, I’m better, wait, nay, more worse today.
I shall not survive an English winter.
Italy, they say, is my last resort.
My friends agree, they’ve paid, arranged a port.
XVIII
You tell me “There must be another world,
We cannot be built to suffer like this.”
Fanny, cry not! Bid me my last goodbye.
You’re right, this world’s too full of constant sigh.
Pretend with me, run away to a life
Away from death, love without dreadful strife.
XIX
Oh, let me once more rest my soul upon
That dazzling breast, awake for ever
In a sweet unrest. Still, still, to hear my
Muse’s tender taken breath, and relish
In her languorous embrace. That by
A sonnet’s line could never be severed.
XX
You needn't say a word. For touch has a
Memory, oh say love, oh say. Gift me
Remembrance, to my to my arms, hands, and lips,
As I watch you slip through my fingertips.
Your silhouette, disappearing like fog,
Vanished, like the summer breeze on black seas.
XXI
I’ll die in obscurity with no guiding beam.
I’ll see you in my final, tortured dream.
So ends the piteous life of John Keats,
The butterfly poet, who only three
Rainy summer days liv’d.
“Bright Star” by John Keats
Hampstead, England, 1819
I
The heart’s affections remain eternal-
It’s gaze endures, without conscience knowing.
For at her family’s dinner table dines,
My lady, a soul furnished naturally
With wings. adorned in pretty ribbons blue,
Pleated ruffles, made from her designs.
II
‘Tis Fanny that I speak of, lady of life,
A woman loved by her society.
The girl I see through passion’s rosy eyes.
I could not wed, ‘twas ill advised.
Lest love should burn me up, capture my mind,
With not a penny in my purse to find.
III
Steadfast were thee in comforting to me,
In darkness and despair and death and dread,
When I found with sorrowful soul, dear Tom dead.
My Brother, killed by consumption's red hand.
Long were our conversations and our walks,
Long were the days of heady tears and talks.
IV
Such gentle smiling lips, like stars are bright,
With your hand press’d in mine, I felt my grief
Near melt’d in dawn’s welcoming light,
Giving end to my cold winter’s night.
To tender affection I could not part,
To my passions I could no longer fight.
V
Upon the mask of a new winter’s glow,
I meant the words I told from me to you,
As I spoke my heart’s truth “I love thee true”
Dear, did my ear mishear “I love you too”?
Love, could there be a part to love in me?
A man with no fine looks out side to see!
VI
When you took me in your arms for a kiss,
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies,
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes,
He starr’d the Pacific- a new world bliss-
As I rest my love on lip’s red border
And felt heaven sigh in a sweet release.
VII
My love had snow’s ashes in her raven
Hair, like spangles in a midnight skyline,
Fallen on her cheeks like a crystal vine.
Sweet voice, sweet lips, warm breath, soft semi-tone.
I want a brighter word, more than brightest, a
Fairer word than fairest! My dear Bright Star!
VIII
Winter melted into spring, and spring warm’d
Into Summer, and the morning bird sings.
In your arms, I was among the sublime,
As trees loom’d like honey’d meads, stoic
Seas to lively streams. I still had not a cent
So, to The Isle of Wright I went to rent.
IX
As I read your letters, rich like poppies,
Filled me with longing, as only you could,
As I thought of you and my final death,
Receiving your presence in every breath.
The poet has his lusty Spring, when his
Creativity clear, then was my Spring.
X
Within love’s happy state of tended rest,
Dissolving into Venus’s gentle breast,
I wished we were butterflies and liv’d but
Three summer days. Three days with you I could
Fill with more contentment than fifty years
Could ever hold, only there would I die.
XI
Autumn saw me back, your lily hand I held
To slip a garnet ring, so we foreswore
“My life belongs to you, forever dans L’amour”
The world would see our future union felled,
By my purse’s penniless profession.
Care not though, Star, and love me in secret.
XII
The night was bitter, dark, and damp, the wind,
The tearing, spitting, vile, winter stead.
The night alone frayed at bone like frost.
I had business, I had to go to town
Without my greatcoat on, but at great cost.
I came home swaying like a wasted drunk.
XIII
Stumbling through the house heaving, coughing as
If I’d drowned. Upon the bed sheets I saw
The color I know well, Arterial blood,
My death warrent’s read. My first thought was you.
Of course! In the height of love and prose,
Dreadful chance should pluck my soul like a rose!
XIV
I can not kiss you, so write me “good night”
I can not see you, come to the window by my bed,
Or sit with me, only more from afar.
Talk with me, bring your work, needle and thread
Or rhapsodize me with talk of French silks.
And laugh over something you’ve just said.
XV
There’s frost at the glass, sweat upon my brow.
It’s so cold, Star, must you go out now?
Do not tease me with your ample social sphere.
Soothe me, write me letters as you’ll allow.
My life falls dull, and you’re my only home.
You can no longer see me often, Dear.
XVI
You say you do not mind being by my
Side. Still, your eyes fade when my cough is harder,
I see your forlorn looks from the parlor.
I’ve imprison’d you too long, go out, Love.
No, stay, and tend me still, I need you here.
No, I’ve caged you here, you’re no turtledove.
XVII
As Seasons wears, my breath grows weaker still,
This medicine, should cure me soon, they say.
Look, I’m better, wait, nay, more worse today.
I shall not survive an English winter.
Italy, they say, is my last resort.
My friends agree, they’ve paid, arranged a port.
XVIII
You tell me “There must be another world,
We cannot be built to suffer like this.”
Fanny, cry not! Bid me my last goodbye.
You’re right, this world’s too full of constant sigh.
Pretend with me, run away to a life
Away from death, love without dreadful strife.
XIX
Oh, let me once more rest my soul upon
That dazzling breast, awake for ever
In a sweet unrest. Still, still, to hear my
Muse’s tender taken breath, and relish
In her languorous embrace. That by
A sonnet’s line could never be severed.
XX
You needn't say a word. For touch has a
Memory, oh say love, oh say. Gift me
Remembrance, to my to my arms, hands, and lips,
As I watch you slip through my fingertips.
Your silhouette, disappearing like fog,
Vanished, like the summer breeze on black seas.
XXI
I’ll die in obscurity with no guiding beam.
I’ll see you in my final, tortured dream.
So ends the piteous life of John Keats,
The butterfly poet, who only three
Rainy summer days liv’d.
Comments
Log in or register to post comments.