There's a point beyond which pain can no longer hurt the sufferer
as the person has overcome the greatest sorrow that has come his way.
Indeed, the spirit of man is infinitely stronger than the harshest sling of fate. In this epiphany, he becomes larger than life and death, and emerges, as an uncrowned hero, though known to none else.
So much have I suffered in my illness and loneliness, with love never in sight, but I've come to accept this suffering as it gives me meaning and the will to live my life every moment to the fullest.
My poetry is my prayer and my religion which give me the courage and strength to endure my daily pain. Of late, my cough has worsened and the weight on my lungs has been unbearable and I pray it will subside the next day.
Suffering doesn't diminish beauty which I've found in my writing, my love of life, of nature, of those I love and the truth in my heart.
I'm certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections, and the truth of imagination.
If I were to die upon the morrow, I'll have no cause for regret as my life has been lived to the fullest and as I've been touched by beauty which is too sublime for words to describe.
( * Keats died a week aged 25 after this from consumption which had no cure at that time)