04-13-2025, 10:03 PM
Bright star, like nature's eremite,
Keats said, then hardly twenty six
was dead. And none would ever write
like him again. In tourist pics
you see his house in Hampstead heath,
a tree that held a nightingale,
and where perhaps his restless feet
were pacing after red tell-tale
drops fell on a handkerchief.
Keats said, then hardly twenty six
was dead. And none would ever write
like him again. In tourist pics
you see his house in Hampstead heath,
a tree that held a nightingale,
and where perhaps his restless feet
were pacing after red tell-tale
drops fell on a handkerchief.