| WHEN I have fears that I may cease to be |
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| Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain, |
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| Before high piled books, in charact’ry, |
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| Hold like rich garners the full-ripen’d grain; |
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| When I behold, upon the night’s starr’d face, |
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| Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, |
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| And think that I may never live to trace |
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| Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; |
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| And when I feel, fair creature of an hour! |
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| That I shall never look upon thee more, |
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| Never have relish in the faery power |
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| Of unreflecting love!—then on the shore |
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| Of the wide world I stand alone, and think |
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| Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.
– John Keats |
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