A Thing Of Beauty Is A Joy

A Long Poem Is A Test Of Invention Which I Take To Be The Polar Star Of Poetry, As Fancy Is The Sails, And Imagination The Rudder.

Then Felt I Like Some Watcher Of The Skies When A New Planet Swims Into His Ken.

No One Can Usurp The Heights... But Those To Whom The Miseries Of The World Are Misery, And Will Not Let Them Rest.

Adieu! Adieu! Thy Plaintive Anthem Fades Past The Near Meadows, Over The Still Stream, Up The Hill-side; And Now 'tis Buried Deep In The Next Valley-glades: Was It A Vision, Or A Waking Dream? Fled Is That Music:--do I Wake Or Sleep?

A Thing Of Beauty Is A Joy Forever: Its Loveliness Increases; It Will Never Pass Into Nothingness.