A dramatic reading of the full letter that Romantic poet John Keats wrote to his beloved Fanny Brawne. It is one of Keats' most famous love letters, featuring lines such as "I almost wish we were butterflies and lived but three summer days" and "I want a brighter word than bright, a fairer word than fair". Part of this letter is also quoted in a beautiful scene of Jane Campion's film "Bright Star".

The letter was written at the beginning of July 1819, while Keats was staying at his friend James Rice's cottage in Shanklin, on the Isle of Wight. He was 23 years old at the time, and would die of tuberculosis less than two years later, shortly after his engagement to Fanny.

Text taken from "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne: Written in the Years of MDCCCXIX and MDCCCXX", G. Broughton and B. Dunham, New York, 1901.

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Text of the letter:


My dearest Lady,

I am glad I had not an opportunity of sending off a letter which I wrote for you on Tuesday night — 'twas too much like one out of Rousseau's Heloise. I am more reasonable this morning. The morning is the only proper time for me to write to a beautiful Girl whom I love so much: for at night, when the lonely day has closed, and the lonely, silent, unmusical Chamber is waiting to receive me as into a Sepulchre, then believe me my passion gets entirely the sway, then I would not have you see those Rhapsodies which I once thought it impossible I should ever give way to, and which I have often laughed at in another, for fear you should [think me] either too unhappy or perhaps a little mad. I am now at a very pleasant Cottage window, looking onto a beautiful hilly country, with a glimpse of the sea; the morning is very fine. I do not know
how elastic my spirit might be, what pleasure I might have in living here and breathing and wandering as free as a stag about this beautiful Coast if the remembrance of you did not so weigh upon me. I have never known any unalloy'd Happiness for many days together: the death or sickness of some one has always spoilt my hours — and now when none such troubles oppress me, it is you must confess very hard that another sort of pain should haunt me. Ask yourself my love whether you are not very cruel to have so entrammelled me, so destroyed my freedom. Will you confess this in the Letter you must write immediately, and do all you can to console me in it — make it rich as a draught of poppies to intoxicate me — write the softest words and kiss them that I may at least touch my lips where yours have been. For myself I know not how to express my devotion to so fair a form; I want a brighter word than bright, a fairer
word than fair. I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days — three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain. But however selfish I may feel, I am sure I could never act selfishly: as I told you a day or two before I left Hampstead, I will never return to London if my Fate does not turn up Pam or at least a Court-card. Though I could centre my Happiness in you, I cannot expect to engross your heart so entirely — indeed if I thought you felt as much for me as I do for you at this moment I do not
think I could restrain myself from seeing you again to-morrow for the delight of one embrace. But no — I must live upon hope and Chance. In case of the worst that can happen, I shall still love you — but what hatred shall I have for another! Some lines I read the other day are continually ringing a peal in my ears:

To see those eyes I prize above mine own
Dart favors on another —
And those sweet lips (yielding immortal nectar)
Be gently press' d by any but myself —
Think, think Francesca, what a cursed thing
It were beyond expression!

J.

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