When I have fears that I may cease to be,
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
Before high piled books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners, the full-ripened grain;
When I behold,
upon the night's starr-ed 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.
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