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 ̶
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.
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
Time to draw breath in this busy world we've made. A moment of respite. I've been walking the old dog, who can only manage the smallest walk these days, up the street at night. Melbourne has had beautifully clear nights and where we live the stars can be very visible. Which is not why I chose this poem! I chose this poem because I've been fretting at night over this and that, sleeping fitfull and waking up to write lists in my head. Not 'sweet unrest' at all. So I'm posting this poem to remind myself of an age when I did lay awake, content to listen to the steady breath of the person next to me. Just in posting this I've taken some time to listen to the words and their melody - a gentle reminder to step outside one's own anxieties.
To take a step into the world of words and have a look at how the Tuesday Birthday Poem is becoming, click here - and from here, visit the other worlds of tuesday poems.
3 comments:
Aah thanks for this Cathy, and your comment. it has made me look at the poem quite differently and appreciate it more I think. Enjoy the dog walking...it would help one to be 'mindful' i should think.:-)
Ahhhh... That's how most Keats poems leave me: quite satisfied. Only the good die young. Thanks for this one Catty, Cathy.
Hi Rethabile - it's Catty or Catherine. I actually dislike being called Cathy. But it's hard to edit out on other people's comments! Never mind. Glad you liked the Keats - it's one of my favourites of his.
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