The Terror of Death

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high-pile'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 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
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.

John Keats

n.b.  Please see "When I have fears that I may cease to be."