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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 scarred 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 fairy power Of unreflecting love; then on the shore O' the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
- John Keats
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