when i have fears that i may cease to be
before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
before high-piled books, in charactery,
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 unreflecting love;—then on the shore
of the wide world i stand alone, and think
till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
~ John Keats
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