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,
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 stink.
John Keats
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