CAMELOT FANTASIES

Bright Star


by John Keats

 Bright 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 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 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.