POEM OF THE WEEK

To Hope

Written in 1815, six years before his early death in Rome, “To Hope” may not be one of John Keats’s best-known poems, but given current circumstances perhaps it’s the most appropriate. His life was afflicted by illness, but Keats recognised that in the most trying of times, hope remains vital.

When by my solitary hearth I sit, When no fair dreams before my ‘mind’s eye’ flit, And the bare heath of life presents no bloom; Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed, And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head.

Whene’er I wander, at the fall of night, Where woven boughs shut out the moon’s bright ray, Should sad Despondency my musings fright, And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away, Peep with the moon-beams through the leafy roof, And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof.

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!

Whene’er the fate of those I hold most dear Tells to my fearful breast a tale of sorrow, O bright-eyed Hope, my morbid fancy cheer; Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow: Thy heaven-born radiance around me shed, And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head!

You can find a copy of Selected Poems by John Keats at the Scottish Poetry Library, 5 Crichton’s Close, Edinburgh EH8 8DT, when it reopens. For poetry enquiries, e-mail reception@spl.org.uk or visit www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk