WHEN I have fears that I may cease to be
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Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
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Before high pil`d books, in charact'ry,
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Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;
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When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
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Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
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And feel that I may never live to trace
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Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
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And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!
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That I shall never look upon thee more,
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Never have relish in the faery power
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Of unreflecting love;—then on the shore
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Of the wide world I stand alone, and think,
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Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.
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