John Keats

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

This Living Hand - Poem by John Keats

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.

Comments about This Living Hand by John Keats

  • Rookie H. Reese (7/5/2012 11:37:00 AM)

    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. (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Rookie Rozeta Atanasova (1/27/2007 7:52:00 AM)

    Great! (Report) Reply

Read all 2 comments »

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Read poems about / on: silence, red, heart, life, dream

Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003

[Hata Bildir]