The Jewel a Bright Star Gave Him
.
The lover holds carnelian between
His thumb and finger (far too late to write
More poetry), then palms it there to lean
Against his lifeline. If the stone is white
Or red like blood that turns away from life
Is well beyond God’s notice. God concerns
Himself with major things and not that wife
This man would never have. Destiny spurns
His future genius and his love. Keats’ chest
Is almost hollow now except for heart,
Catastrophe, and hopelessness. The best
His friends can wish for is a death apart
From agony of almost breathless moan.
He takes his coffin calm from Fanny’s stone.