This Living Hand

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.

by John Keats

Comments (3)

And so his hope is extended as an offering, will we carry his torch? He is calling for an answer
I had a very big moment just reading this poem once. The way it is structured those last lines really hit you. Great, great stuff.
Great!