"Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art; Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night, And watching with eternal lids apart, Like Nature's patient sleepless eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors:-- No, yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest; Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever--or else swoon to death." Of poetic projects which remained unfulfilled when Keats died we hear--leaving out of count the works which he had begun and left uncompleted--of only one. During his voyage to Naples he often spoke of wishing to write the story of Sabrina, as indicated in Milton's "Comus," connecting it with some points in English history and character. In prose--apart from his letters, which are noticeably various in mood, matter, and manner, and contain many admirable things--Keats wrote extremely little. In a weekly paper with which Reynolds was connected, _The Champion_, December 1817, he published two articles on "Kean as a Shakespearean Actor:" they are not remarkable. With the above-named articles are now associated some "Notes on Shakespeare," not written with a view to publication; these appear to me somewhat strained and bloated. There are also some "Notes on Milton's 'Paradise Lost.'" On September 22, 1819, Keats addressed to Mr. Dilke a letter, which however does not appear to have been actually sent off. As it shows a definite intention of writing in prose for regular publication and for an income, a few sentences are worth quoting. "It concerns a resolution I have taken to endeavour to acquire something by temporary writing in periodical works. You must agree with me how unwise it is to keep feeding upon hopes which, depending so much on the state of temper and imagination, appear gloomy or bright, near or afar off, just as it happens.... You may say I want tact; that is easily acquired.... I should, a year or two ago, have spoken my mind on every subject with the utmost simplicity. I hope I have learned a little better, and am confident I shall be able to cheat as well as any literary Jew of the market, and shine up an article on anything without much knowledge of the subject--aye, like an orange. I would willingly have recourse to other means. I cannot; I am fit for nothing but literature.... Notwithstanding my 'aristocratic' temper, I cannot help being very much pleased with the present public proceedings. I hope sincerely I shall be able to put a mite of help to the liberal side of the question before I die." On the following day Keats wrote to Brown on the same subject--