John Keats

(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821 / London, England)

His Last Sonnet Poem by John Keats


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 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 steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillowed 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.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

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Comments about this poem (His Last Sonnet by John Keats )

  • Bronze Star - 2,486 Points John Richter (10/6/2014 12:43:00 PM)

    Immensely sensual..... Young man wishing to adore the most beautiful things of life with the constant ability as a star in heaven, sleepless, only to realize that such ability would be best used to adore his lover, something he wishes to do forever.... Am I wrong in recognizing this as a rather powerful love poem? Though somewhat lacking of the usual mastery of assonance I have become accustomed to in Keat's writing. Dare I assume Keats was a young man when he wrote this? (Report) Reply

  • Veteran Poet - 1,467 Points Kay Staley (10/6/2014 11:05:00 AM)

    To envy the characteristics of being a star...fading into talking about the poets musings and his love..what a nice and old fashioned sonnet. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie - 276 Points Naida Nepascua Supnet (10/6/2014 5:37:00 AM)

    WHo would not fall in love for Keats' verses
    just marvelous ones (Report) Reply

  • Bronze Star - 2,223 Points Anthony Di''anno (10/6/2014 4:17:00 AM)

    John, would I were a crevice in your heart,
    That held a bright cinder lost in the night,
    I would warm you through and ne'er depart,
    Mind your fevered brow through each tortured fight,

    Fetch all that your condition's needs would ask,
    And also fetch the things you needed more,
    I would be equal to every task,
    Let you trespass my thirsty human shore,

    For I would abandon respectable,
    And be a fool at my love's own behest,
    So when they drummed and tolled your sad death knell,
    I had met each and every request,

    Your whispers linger, tender taken breath,
    Your Bright Star ever, lures swoons to their death. (Report) Reply

  • Gold Star - 7,037 Points Frank Avon (10/6/2014 3:01:00 AM)

    Anyone who knows me (or follows my comments on sites like this one) is likely to know that my favorite poets of all time are the British Romantics, and that Keats has been a favorite longer than any other. I became an English major and an English teacher and a lover of poetry after discovering Keats' Ode on a Grecian Urn and reading Earl Wasserman's The Finer Tone (I hate not being able to italicize) . 'Bright Star' may very well be the most nearly perfect sonnet in the English language - yes, Petrarchan or Italian, which probably is even more difficult than the Shakespearean or English form. After almost sixty years of reading and teaching this poem, I am still as moved by it as when I first encountered it as a sophomore in college, maybe even more so. And, yes, it has autobiographical overtones. And, yes, the voice heard in the poem is the voice of the poet, Keats himself. Of course, the speaker of every poem is a persona, a mask if you will. But that's true of anything anyone ever says. What we say, if we are not being deceptive or are not self-deceived, reflects who we are at that given moment - maybe not yesterday, maybe not tomorrow, but nevertheless autobiographical. And, no, Keats I am relatively certain would NOT have wanted this poem entitled his Last Poem. How he hoped against hope that it would not be.

    How blessed we all are - how blessed the world is - that he wrote, that he let it reflect some of what he must have been feeling at that time, and that it was preserved for us to read for all time to come. (Report) Reply

  • Veteran Poet - 1,376 Points Sagnik Chakraborty (10/6/2014 2:10:00 AM)

    The beautiful imagery leaves a lasting impression on the mind of the poetry lover. Keats at his sensuous best! (Report) Reply

  • Gold Star - 13,881 Points * Sunprincess * (3/13/2014 9:42:00 PM)

    ......a sweet write...loved it.. (Report) Reply

  • Veteran Poet - 1,842 Points Babatunde Aremu (10/6/2013 2:34:00 PM)

    Great poem. I like it (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Michael Pruchnicki (10/6/2009 6:53:00 PM)

    Sometimes I wonder about the misconceptions some of you have about poetry and poets, but your garbled interpretations cause my wonder to dissipate in the fog of incomprehension I detect in your postings!

    Alert to Albert Ahearn- 'His Last Sonnet' by John Keats is NOT a Shakespearean sonnet. Fourteen lines make a sonnet, OK! But when divided into an octave (eight lines rhyming ABABCDCD) - art / night / apart / eremite / task / shores / mask / moors // and a sestet (six lines rhyming EFEFGG) - able / breast / swell / unrest / breath / death, it is a PETRARCHAN sonnet! Remember that your high school teacher impressed upon your adolescent mind that Shakespeare wrote sonnets composed of three quatrains (four lines each) and a couplet (two lines) that summed up or resolved the problem raised in the three preceding quatrains!

    The poet differs from the persona, the 'I' character in the sonnet that the poet creates to express the thoughts and feelings that many unwary readers take to be the poet expressing himself as the lover or whomever he pretends to be. Recall if you can that teacher who told you that the term 'persons' literally means 'mask! '

    And forget Fanny Brawn or whomever else your restless mind and imagination construes as Keats's love interest in real life. Cite your sources, boy! Your vulgar line about the half-naked wench stretched out on the couch leaves most of us in the dark! (Report) Reply

    Gold Star - 7,037 Points Frank Avon (10/6/2014 3:17:00 AM)

    I appreciate your comment, and the time it must have taken you to share it with PH readers.

    I'm not sure whose 'fog of incomprehension' you are referring to. I've read eleven current comments, and though most are not as perceptive as yours, they don't sound all that garbled to me. Admittedly, I have not found Albert Ahearn's. Perhaps it has been withdrawn. Perhaps that is what you hoped for.

    But how do you know the voice of the poem is not the voice of the poet, Keats himself? And how do you know for sure the poem does not refer to Fanny Brawn as 'my fair love'? If a poem is autobiographical - if the poet speaks with his own voice, or attempts to, does that mean it is not true poetry. Or that it is not good poetry? Or, simply, that it is not poetry written according to your dictates? What about the confessional poets of the 1960s? Or Walt Whitman's extraordinarily personal and idiosyncratic passages? Or your own poems? Is no single one of them autobiographical? Do you not speak with your own voice in any one of them?

    By the way, I've read several of your poems, and will certainly read more, and many of them I like very, very much. Many of them - with a good editor or proofreader - are certainly publishable in respected periodicals, by respected presses. Perhaps you are already a published poet. I hope so. As soon as I finish on this site, I'll go to Amazon.com to see if any of your volumes are available there.

    But, among us amateurs on PH, perhaps you could be a bit kinder, a bit more encouraging. If you find this offensive, forgive me. Just let me know, and I will comment on your work no further.

    Again, thank you for your attention.

  • Rookie Tai Chi Italy (10/6/2009 3:29:00 PM)

    For me Keats is the most romantic hero in poetic terms. If this was infact his last sonnet before his death at such a young age, then it is written in the heightened spirit of his inspirations muse! Love and Death...our greatest preoccupation in life, the closer we get, the more inspired we are. When I read him in the 90's, that is when I realised what poetry was all about. Not actively constructed, but euphorically inspired, by death, by love, by life.

    An amazingly sad and beautiful read.

    Thanks John

    Smiling at you

    Tai (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Kerry O'Connor (10/6/2009 10:16:00 AM)

    Considering the fact that Keats died at 26 years old after a long, malingering battle against TB, his preoccupation with death and his imminent separation from his beloved Fanny Brawn is quite understandable and sensitively penned. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Kevin Straw (10/6/2009 6:04:00 AM)

    In Keats there is a melancholy (sometimes conscious, sometimes unconsciously expressed) that pervades much of his work. This melancholy proceeds from his frustration at his impending death which will cut off the full development of his poetry, and his sexual frustration. In this poem there is the paradox that he would exchange his eternal genius for love, but love which is like that of the lovers in the Ode to A Grecian Urn - eternally the same, never fully realised, but at the same time never frustrated. It is the poem of a man who passionately wants full sexual love, but at the same time fears it, and it is no less a poem for that. Compare the poem 'When I have fears that I may cease to be...' which deals with both frustrations. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie - 26 Points Joseph Poewhit (10/6/2009 6:02:00 AM)

    Sort of brings to light, the depth of character in steadfastness, a shining star in the heavens. (Report) Reply

  • Freshman - 585 Points Ramesh T A (10/6/2009 3:17:00 AM)

    A sensuous sonnet heightened to the stature of steadfast Star shows how passionate Keats is! No lover in the world would ever forget this great poet forever! (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Daphne Grant (10/6/2007 5:52:00 PM)

    The poet is stating that he wished he could be as constant as the eternal star, and he says it in his own inimitable way.The message is summed up in the line, awake forever in a sweet unrest. Awake like the constant star, or if not and so live for ever - or else swoon to death. He is in such a state of joy, that he wished he could remain so forever; as the constant star. It is a very beautifull poem.

    daphne Grant (Report) Reply

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