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, So long as we are humans, a little worth. For this, our true and steadfast friend, the sky, Should be adorned with garlands, and bred to die.

That is our motto; that is where we would go,

• John Keats