This Living Hand

I'm trying to write a paper about this poem right now.

Concentrating on anything is very hard work.

"This living hand, now warm and capable"

This living hand, now warm and capable
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
And in the icy silence of the tomb,
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
That thou would wish thine own heart dry of blood,
So in my veins red life might stream again,
And thou be conscience-calm’d. See, here it is—
I hold it towards you—

- written by John Keats in 1819, first published in 1898 by H.B. Forman