'Tis the witching hour of night,
Orbed is the moon and bright,
And the stars they glisten, glisten,
Seeming with bright eyes to listen --
For what listen they?
For a song and for a charm,
See they glisten in alarm,
And the moon is waxing warm
To hear what I shall say.
There is more to that poem, but that is the part I was thinking of tonight... er... this morning. (I couldn't sleep, so it all blends together.) All I remembered was that it was perfect for Halloween, and that John Keats had written it to his brother who had sailed to America. I have a book of his collected works, but figured I should be able to find it online. The funny thing is that for some reason I actually remembered that he was born in 1795. The interesting tidbit I found out tonight is that he was born on October 31, 1795. It is his birthday today.
The way my memory works, I may have bits and pieces of his poems floating around in my brain, somewhere. Oddly enough I remember reading two beautifully written introductions to his work, both of which he wrote himself, and I specifically recall my impression of him being self-conscious and humble. This brilliant young man only lived to be 26 years old, and although what he offered the world with his writing in his short life could be considered poetic perfection, he constantly questioned his ability as a poet. I may not remember the words, but I remember the impact they had on me.