I find Keats in Rome

I find Keats in Rome

I did not expect to find you here,
in this corner room, with the window
overlooking the Spanish Steps.
(sounds of today no different now)

where your journey ended , in battle
fought with a known enemy.
Too young to die, and having already come so far.
(My flesh, my bones sense you still.)

For you are here, and everywhere
where like- minded spirits read
your words.(breathe them, eat them)
I wander about this room, wonder about the man,
moved by the sense of life that lingers on.
A fireplace whereon you toasted bread
sometimes too weak to eat, or even raise your head.
Room for a bed, not much more, a desk
by the window (oh!, you loved that view)
where Roman light illumined ,
and the sounds of the day clattered in.
Where Joseph Severn brought you up to date with
the goings on , that were passing you by.
He painted you , not once, but seven times, each
more lovingly than before.

I tremble at the love that Fanny showed for you.
As brief as your earthly love was together
She grieved seven years (Seven years!)
I, having never known the man, feel I know why.
Your soul permeates Time, as once your love moved her.

You haunt me, a wandering tourist
Overlooking excavated ruins in the Forum.
I am baffled by Times’ curious tricks;
The Rome that uncovers itself now
is not the Rome once revealed to you,
though it had stood centuries
before either of we two.
Rome embraced you, remembers you,
You never really went away,I know.