A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing A flowery band to bind us to the earth, Source of delight, for the human birth,

And having the beauty of all things fresh, The love that’s from the heart becomes the flesh That drives us back to nature, that divine With which we spend our nightly hours reclined.

This marble urn, the love of beauty light, Will bring you solace in the poor man’s fight. And each creativity woven with the fates Will give birth to love as nature resonates.

• John Keats