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.
John KeatsAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: english
- Born: October 31, 1795
- Died: February 23, 1821