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