WHEN I have fears that I may cease to be 
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, 
Before high pil`d 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.