O aching time! O moments big as years! - John Keats

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 stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd 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.

Bright Star

You cannot conceive how I ache to be with you: how I would die for one hour...

I have met with women whom I really think would like to be married to a Poem and to be given away by a Novel.