Diary of the Plague Year: Day 33 17 April 2020: Quotidian Poetry John Keats (1795-1821)

 

 

THIS LIVING HAND, NOW WARM AND CAPABLE

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 heart dry of blood
So in my veins red life might stream again,
And thou be conscience-calmed – see here it is –
I hold it towards you.

FROM:

Love Letters and Poems
of John Keats to Fanny Brawne

Penguin