                                      1816
                     THIS LIVING HAND, NOW WARM AND CAPABLE
                                 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-calm'd- see here it is-
        I hold it towards you.


                        THE END
