A piece I did for school, thought I'd see what people thought. Had to reference a few of Keats' poems and his letters to Fanny.

17th November, 1820

My dear Fanny,
It only makes sense to write to the beautiful girl I love on a day such as this. People are calling it a most dreary day, heavy clouds making hearts heavier. I however think the rain washes away the weight of the world from our shoulders. We'd be free to fly and be higher than the breeze that carried us. We wouldn't have to exist outside that lofty place. When we're there, I can feel the turn of the earth underfoot yet somehow the world ceases to be as soon as my eyes make you out.

'I almost wish we were butterflies'. I'd take you soaring over the world. Around the highest of mountains we'd court the rocks to a point of danger, swooping and swooning until the height made us faint in dizzying ecstasy. We'd tumble to the oceans, an endless abyss of purity in front of us. With the ease and grace of angel you would manoeuvre amongst the waves whilst I watch in awe, delirious with the sight of your delicate self, skipping across the salted, foam topped crests.
I would rather spend three days like this, intoxicated by the gaze you deliver unto me, a gaze which renders me incapable of anything. A man I am no more, but a slave to you. My subservience should come as no surprise to you. You had me hypnotised with your quick wit and brash nature. It was only a matter of time before I fell to your spell.

To be apart from you right now, it's like a sheet of snow has fallen, acting as a masque between us. Something so soft and pure should never be able to cause such pain, such sorrow, such impatience to be with you once more! I yearn for you. Not even the gigantic mountains nor the deepest moors could keep us apart.

Unfortunately it is not as simple as that. The mountains and moors are not the problem, but the harsh winter's chill that now has the same effects on me as it did my brother. This has led me to revise my thoughts, wants and needs. Death can make even the most ecstatic of us sober our ways to the point of a cocoon, but that shall not be me. I will live these last years of my cursedly short life in a modest fashion.

'When I have fears that I may cease to be', I used to console myself in the thought of you. But now, now any reminder of you brings tears to my eyes and a black tie around my heart, constricted to a deep, slow pain. This vice-grip you have makes me short of breath and weak at the knees. Where once I relished this feeling, it now drives me to the floor not in love, but in fear.
With my illness slowly taking over, these divinely hellish hallucinations of you are stealing my life. Your bewitching form has me enchanted like a faerie power, but my love, I must break this spell for I fear it may kill me.

Now I find myself, looking out over the crystalline sea. My back is turned on the world and alas my love, my only love, I soon must turn my back on you. This vast expanse of cleansing ocean lying between us as a sign from the Lord himself that it was never meant to be, that we were never meant to be. But 'like a Heathen' I will 'pray, pray, pray to your star' tonight.

Something plays within my mind, something like the stars are calling to me but "I defy you stars!" I will have nothing to do with you, I will return to my house once more and as my chest begins to close once again, I fear I will get no better and I will not lay my eyes upon you anymore fair star.

My sweet and fair love, I swear upon anything you command that I will love you forever, but I can never tell you this again. I hear you, I see you and it pierces me like a spear when I wear my cap for the fact you lined it with silk. I curse the very day I met you but I cannot bear to not think of it! Do you see why I must leave you? I have to do this. I cannot survive with the guilt of leaving you in this world still clinging to me! You must forget me fair star; forget me and my stupid ways and my love that never did deserve yours. Please, do this for your own good lest you become an old crone with no one to care for you. I cannot bear the thought!

Just promise me my love. I seal this envelope with kisses and this will be the last touch you receive from me.

Goodbye my love,
J. Keats.


The boy heard the coughing from the strange man on the hill. The hacking sounded different than before, more strained perhaps.
"Sir?" he called out. There was no reply. He called louder this time. Still nothing. The boy slowly climbed the flight of stairs carved into the rocks leading to the cliff face not wanting to be beaten for prying.
The man lay sprawled, writing on the ground in agony. Sprinting over, the boy called out to him, not knowing what to do. The boy shook his hands trying to get the man's attention.
"Help…me". The request was barely more than a whisper. Wide, innocent eyes stared down into bloodshot, tear-filled ones.
"Please…take it" the man croaked out before another coughing fit overcame him. The boy looked around then saw the letter in the dying man's hand, the envelope grasped weakly. Just as the man relinquished his grip, a gust of wind caught it and threw it into the tumultuous air.
"Please" the man breathed, "forget me my lo – "his voice hitched, his eyes strained and the man breathed his last.