When I Have Fears That I May Cease to Be

                              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,

                  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.