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, Store of sweet sounds and balmy scents and lush
With glorious visions, our hearts’ fondest drowse. The sun and the moon, each creature and things, Make part of the beauty of the universe.
- John Keats