Bright Star

A thing of beauty is a joy forever:

Its loveliness increases; it will never

Pass into nothingness: but will still keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

               Can you guess whose hand so artfully wrote that beautiful, unforgettable poetry? 

The author was a young man, not much older than myself, who dreamed of becoming more than he was. His idol was Shakespeare and his peers included Tennyson. He knew sorrow and he knew love. 

His name was John Keats, and he died at age twenty-five.

               I first heard of him and his amazing work from my sister. She's read every one of his poems. She's watched Bright Star (which has since prompted me to watch it) a fascinating movie documenting his short life. We got to go to his house in Hampstead Heath, London and learn about his heartbreaking life. 

Getting a kick out of Keats' House

           During his time, his work was relatively disliked for some reason. He was published, but he wasn't famous or even close to rich. He loved the-girl-next-door, Fanny Brawne, but he had no fortune, nothing to support a family. He had family, but they were far and abroad. He contracted TB and knew that he didn't have much time. In an apartment on the Spanish Steps in Rome, he breathed his last.

But his poetry lived on. His passion wasn't wasted. He lived more in his twenty-five years than most people do in their fifties. His fame may not be that of Shakespeare's nor his name praised like Tennyson, but somehow he did surpass them. He lived, truly lived. He fought for what he loved and dared to dream.

John Keats was a true bright star.