when i have fears that i may cease to be
before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
before high-piled books, in charactery,
hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;
when i behold, upon the night’s starred 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
