When I Have Fears That I May

A Thing Of Beauty Is A Joy Forever.

I Cannot Exist Without You. I Am Forgetful Of Everything But Seeing You Again.

When The Melancholy Fit Shall Fall Sudden From Heaven Like A Weeping Cloud, That Fosters The Droop-headed Flowers All, And Hides The Green Hill In An April Shroud; Then Glut Thy Sorrow On A Morning Rose.

Ghosts Of Melodious Prophesyings Rave Round Every Spot Where Trod Apollo's Foot; Bronze Clarions Awake, And Faintly Bruit, Where Long Ago A Giant Battle Was; And, From The Turf, A Lullaby Doth Pass In Every Place Where Infant Orpheus Slept. Feel We These Things? - That Moment Have We Stept Into A Sort Of Oneness, And Our State Is Like A Floating Spirit's. But There Are Richer Entanglements, Enthralments Far More Self-destroying, Leading, By Degrees, To The Chief Intensity: The Crown Of These Is Made Of Love And Friendship, And Sits High Upon The Forehead Of Humanity.

Failure Is, In A Sense, The Highway To Success.