Saturday, October 23, 2010


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.


  1. I was just thinking yesterday that maybe Keats took his epitaph, "Here lies one whose name was writ on water" from Petrarch... I've gotta find that Petrarch poem...