WHEN I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high pilèd 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 feel 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.
About the poet |
John Keats |
By the same poet |
On first looking into Chapman's Homer |
The Realm of Fancy |
Ode on a Grecian Urn |
Ode to a Nightingale |
Ode to Psyche |
To Autumn |
Ode on Melancholy |
Fragment of an Ode to Maia |
Bards of Passion and of Mirth |
Stanzas |
La Belle Dame sans Merci |
To Sleep |
Last Sonnet |
Related books |
John Keats at amazon.co.uk |