BRIGHT Star, would I were steadfast 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 priest-like 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 steadfast, still unchangeable, 
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, 
   Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, 
   And so live ever--or else swoon to death.