This living hand, now warm and capable <br />Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold <br />And in the icy silence of the tomb, <br />So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights <br />That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood <br />So in my veins red life might stream again, <br />And thou be conscience-calmed - see here it is - <br />I hold it towards you.<br /><br />John Keats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/this-living-hand/
