When I have fears that I may cease to be



Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,



Before high-pilèd books, in charactery,



Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;



When I behold, upon the night’s starred 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.





