This Living Hand

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 wouldst wish thine own 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. 

Next 10 Poems

• John Keats : To -
• John Keats : To A Friend Who Sent Me Some Roses
• John Keats : To A Young Lady Who Sent Me A Laurel Crown
• John Keats : To Ailsa Rock
• John Keats : To Autumn
• John Keats : To Byron
• John Keats : To Fanny
• John Keats : To G.a.w.
• John Keats : To Haydon
• John Keats : To Homer

Previous 10 Poems

• John Keats : Think Of It Not, Sweet One
• John Keats : Think Not Of It, Sweet One
• John Keats : The Human Seasons
• John Keats : The Eve Of St. Agnes
• John Keats : The Dove
• John Keats : The Day Is Gone, And All Its Sweets Are Gone
• John Keats : Stanzas
• John Keats : Sonnet: On The Sonnet
• John Keats : Song Of The Indian Maid, From 'endymion'
• John Keats : Robin Hood