Meet thou the event <br />And terrible happening of <br />Thine end: for thou are come <br />Upon the remote, cold place <br />Of ultimate dissolution and <br />With dumb, wide look <br />Thou, impotent, dost feel <br />Impotence creeping on <br />Thy potent soul. Yea, now, caught in <br />The aghast and voiceless pain <br />Of Death, thyself doth watch <br />Thyself becoming naught. <br /> <br /> <br />Peace. . Peace. . for at <br />The last is comfort. Lo, now <br />Thou hast no pain. Lo, now <br />The waited presence is <br />Within the room; the voice <br />Speaks final-gentle: 'Child, <br />Even thy careful nurse, <br />I lift thee in my arms <br />For greater ease and while <br />Thy heart still beats, place my <br />Cool fingers of oblivion on <br />Thine eyes and close them for <br /> <br />Eternity. Thou shalt <br />Pass sleeping, nor know <br />When sleeping ceases. Yet still <br />A little while thy breathing lasts, <br />Gradual is fainter: I <br />must listen close - the end.' <br /> <br />Rest. And you others..All. <br />Grave-fellows in <br />Green place. Here grows <br />Memorial every spring's <br />Fresh grass and here <br />Your marking monument <br />Was built for you long, long <br />Ago when Caius Cestius died.<br /><br />Adelaide Crapsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/john-keats-8/
