Poems, by John 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 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 unreflecting love; — then on the shore

Of the wide world I stand alone, and think

Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.