Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,
Strive for her son to seize my careless heart;
When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,
Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart:
Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright,
And fright him as the morning frightens night!
John Keats…you devil. As I sat listless and glancing through a book of poetry, there you were.
There you were with your words that make my heart say “Yeah, I guess so. I guess I’ll try the word ‘hope’ on again and see if it fits. And if it doesn’t, I’ll try it on again tomorrow…and the next day…and the next day.”
You’ve had my heart fair Keats since I was a young girl. You still have me. <3