Bright Star

It's mine.

-Get down.

-You're not allowed!

-Good day, Mr. Phipps.

-You're not allowed!

Get down.

You'll have no supper if you keep that up.

-Hello, Joy.

-Hello.

-Is all well?

-Very good. Thank you.

-Hello.

-Hello.

-Good morning, Joy.

-Hello.

-Sorry.

-Welcome.

Where is Mr. Keats?

I'm afraid he is not joining us.

He's in Mr. Brown's half of the house.

Hello.

Hello.

The very well stitched Little Miss Brawne

in all her detail.

Good morning.

What is this? What have I done?

How have I offended?

I don't shake hands with the enemy.

An enemy? What have I done to you?

You do nothing to me or for me,

and that's how I'd prefer to keep it.

What?

Your offense is to my fashion, Mr. Brown.

Oh, dear.

To which I'm ''so helplessly slavish.''

I have been ill-quoted.

''Her obsession

with flounce and cross-stitch''?

Cross-stitch? Miss Brawne,

-I don't even know what that means.

-For goodness' sake. Baiting, baiting.

I feel the same about your poems,

Mr. Brown.

I know nothing of what they mean.

They puff smoke, dissolve,

leaving nothing but irritation.

Fanny, take this tea to Mr. Keats.

He is in very poor spirits.

Mr. Keats is composing

and does not want disturbing.

It's my finding in the business of disturbing,

you're the expert.

Fanny, why not speak to one of us

you hold in higher favor?

I'm praising him!

-Fanny.

-Please, Fanny.

I'm wanting to know what you shall say

about Mr. Keats.

I've been waiting two weeks

that I may enjoy your opinion.

I cannot look upon him without smiling.

And he is quick with his thoughts,

though now they are mostly sad.

His brother Tom's not at all better.

Very diminished.

Mr. Keats nurses him alone.

It's difficult work.

Mr. Keats nurses him alone.

It's difficult work.

-Is there no other family member?

-No. The parents are both dead.

There is only a much younger sister

and a brother who lives in America.

Come in.

You like jokes, Mr. Keats?

I like jokes.

Mr. Brown, I warn you,

does not like my jokes.

He complains I care for nothing but fashion.

Would you like biscuits?

You've come to spy.

Spy?

How will you describe me? My character?

I am not the least interested

in your character.

My jacket, then? Or my pantaloons?

You need a new jacket,

that's what I would say.

Is that all?

It should be of velvet, blue velvet.

Tell me, Miss Brawne,

how can you be so sure?

Well, all I wear,

I've sewn and designed myself.

I'm often told

I am clever to exception about design.

I originated the pleats on my dress,

which are charming...

Has she annoyed you sufficiently?

She has done brilliant well with me.

Men's room, out.

Poets got to do a bit of writing.

My stitching has more merit and admirers

than your two scribblings put together.

Goodbye, minxstress.

And I can make money from it.

Yes?

Have you got John Keats' poem book...

-Endymion?

-Endymion, yes.

Yes, I've not heard much good about it.

I've not sold one and took 20.

My sister has met the author,

and she wants to read it for herself

to see if he is an idiot or not.

Unwrap it.

Read it.

''A thing of beauty is a joy for ever

Its loveliness increases. It will never

''Pass into nothingness, but still will keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

''Full of sweet dreams, and health

and quiet breathing''

-Stop.

-''Therefore, on...''

''Yes, in spite of all

''Some shape of beauty moves away the pall

From our dark spirits''

I'd love to speak with Mr. Keats.

''A thing of beauty is a joy forever

Its loveliness increases. It will never

''Pass into nothingness''

You've read Endymion.

I wanted to adore it.

-But you hated it?

-I can't say.

Are you frightened to speak truthfully?

-Never.

-Well, tell me then.

No. I'm not clever with poetry.

Well, neither, it seems, am I.

-Still I have some hope for myself.

-I think hope useful.

-But...

-Hope and results are different.

One doesn't necessarily create the other.

Would practice help?

It might.

I wasn't always able to stitch so well.

This is the first frock

in all of Woolwich or Hampstead

to have a triple-pleated mushroom collar.

Isn't that an identical one behind you?

My card's completely full.

But you don't dance, Mr. Keats.

I love to dance.

I don't feel like dancing.

Is your brother still ill?

He's no better.

My father was ill

for as long as I can remember.

He died when I was still very young.

Excuse me.

Miss Brawne, may I?

Mama!

Fanny has cut my ribbon,

and she never asked.

What are you doing, Fanny?

Trying to bring some comfort

to a dying man.

What dying man?

Where are you taking them?

I cannot offer poor Mr. Keats' brother

anything that's not perfect.

It's me. Miss Brawne.

I have something to deliver to Mr. Keats.

Leave it at the door.

-Is he not there?

-We're working, Miss Brawne.

I have something for your brother, Mr. Keats.

Invite her in. Brown!

You disgusting ape.

Be careful as you enter the ape's cage.

Sit next to me, Miss Brawne.

My prospects in the world feel very faint.

This room is so poorly cared for.

Please try one.

I'm anxious they'll cause him to choke.

No! Try another and I swear I shall bite you.

Take care. She has sharp teeth.

She has sunk her fangs into my poor poem

and shook it apart.

I am very sorry I couldn't love

your Endymion completely, Mr. Keats.

Perhaps I did not say,

but I thought the beginning of your poem

something very perfect.

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