Bright Star

There is a charming theatre in Wilmington that I frequent as often as my time allows. Monthly I receive a pamphlet of upcoming films and those which I am unable to see I place in my Netflix queue. This weekend I received Jane Campion's Bright Star.
Much like a prepubescent girl who dots her i's with little hearts, I have a keen fondness for stars. With little care given to anything else, I placed this film at the top of my queue based on its title alone. Then I took note of the director, whose films I have admired for a time, the lead actor, whom I adored in Perfume, and finally its premise, poet John Keats.
Only slightly familiar with Keats work, I have now discovered a new friend whose words will fill the void of romance in my daily living. The poem for which the film's title is taken is truly exquisite. Take a moment to linger on the delicate beauty of each lovely line.

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.