“I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your Loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute. I hate the world: it batters too much the wings of my self-will, and if I could, I would take a sweet poison from your lips to send me out of it. From no others would I take it.”
I love love love this passage that Keats wrote to his secret love Fanny (ha!) Brawne. I’m not sure why I like it though, because it’s quite evidently suicidal and depressing, and to be honest, totally emo. It also reminds me a little bit of somebody. He might not be flattered at the comparison…Anyway, it’s a wonderful expression of raw honesty and adoration. Keats certainly wasn’t writing these things to get attention, he really did feel this way as we saw in the tragic end of his life. Also he had tuberculosis already by this point, and he may or may not have known that it was terminal.
Either way, he was definitely forced to come to terms with his own mortality, and the fact that he did that through letters to Fanny shows a total break down of that ‘wall’ that people put up to protect themselves… I love this, particularly in his era when people were (seemingly) so socially conservative, even more markedly so between men and women. I haven’t been able to find her reply unfortunately. I wonder what she said.
I guess it’s the vulnerability that I find so beautiful.