When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books in charact’ry
Hold like rich garners the full ripen’d grain;
When I behold upon the night’s starr’d face
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unrefecting love;--then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
-John Keats
