This Grave
contains all that was mortal,
of a
Young English Poet,
who
on his Death Bed,
in the Bitterness of his heart,
at the Malicious Power of his enemies,
desired
these words to be Engraven on his Tomb Stone:
Here lies One
Whose Name was writ in Water.



And yet, all Keats wished for others to know was that “Here lies one whose name was writ in water.” Joseph Severn and Charles Brown chose to add all the rest.

John Keats suffered, died on February 23, 1821, and was buried on February 26. Why does it matter to me that he died five days before I was born, a hundred and sixty-three years earlier?

And yet, there’s something there which speaks to me and I find myself returning to Keats’ work repeatedly. “RIP John Keats.” People live and die. Writers are no different. And John Keats was one who lived and died long before my time.

Here lies one whose name was writ in water.

Is it that he felt his legacy was merely passing, something to come and go as swiftly as the tide or the never-to-return flow of a stream.

Here lies one whose name was writ in water.

I cannot say I agree with the sentiment. Popular or successful or not, I still want my memory to linger.

Here lies one whose name was writ in water. How fleeting these words set into stone almost two hundred years ago.