Keats


When I have fears that I may cease to be

Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain,

Before high piled books, in charactry,

  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.

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