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 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 stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake forever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever–or else swoon to death.
(In imitation of John Keats)
Bright star, if I were as stubborn as you are,
Not like a diamond, up above the world so high,
Staring down the infinity with your rigid shine,
Watching like a hermit, out of touch with time
The stream to river, and river to the sea
Waking, warming, wrapping the shores.
Or fix on the wooly white snow,
or the numb nose and smoky breath.
No- fixed like diamond in this moment then,
Human to human, skin to skin, breath intermingling
To hold the rise of passion, sweet and tender
Same, today, tomorrow, and day after
Excitement – fixed, infinite, eternal
Forever – this flashing monotone of death.