Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury. 1875.
John Keats CXCVIII. Bright Star! would I were steadfast as thou artB
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature’s patient sleepless Eremite,
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors:—
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;
And so live ever,—or else swoon to death.