– an unfinished fragment by John Keats

 
 
 
 
 
– an unfinished fragment … scrawled in the margin of one of his books
 
 
 
 
John Keats
 
 
 
 
 
This living hand, now warm and capable
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
And in the icy silence of the tomb,
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
That thou would wish thine own heart dry of blood,
So in my veins red life might stream again,
And thou be conscience-calm’d. See, here it is –
I hold it towards you.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
***
 
 
 

~ by samofthetenthousandthings on July 18, 2020.