When I Have Fears Before my pen has gleam’d upon the page, Before high-piled books, in charred-out night, With visions pouring free; I have not found The safety I have yearned, nor halcyon sight.

In gardens under blossomed boughs, Trapped amidst the glades, I long to leap Into the joys that fill the heart, As dreams pour down from heaven, like spring’s sweet dew.

Yet, when the winds shift and skies insist That time is But a fleeting breath; Away from all I seek, take Flight And lose myself, around the flowery wreath.

• John Keats