Sonnet Sunday: Keats

I just thought that Sonnet Sunday sounded very nice; Saturdays aren't as disposed to sonnetry and I do so love a little alliteration. This Sunday I'm starting out with Keats in honor of the copy of Bright Star I have on pre-order that should be here next week. I'll be doing a review of it in the paper of the institution of higher education I am currently taking some classes at (purposely ambiguous), that I will also print here.

Bright star, would I were steadfast 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 steadfast, 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.

What can I say? I am a sucker for a good sonnet.