Bright Star

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's robust chest,
To feel for ever its fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear his tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.

This is modified from John Keats' poem to the love of his life, Fanny Brawne. Happy Birthday Joel--you are seven squared, and still the love of my life.