This Living Hand - John Keats

Lyrics
This living hand, now warm and capable Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold And in the icy silence of the tomb So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood So in my veins red life might stream again And thou be conscience-calmed—see here it is— I hold it towards you
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Credits
- Writers
- John Keats