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
spite of despondence of the inhuman dearth
of noble natures of the gloomy days
of all the unhealthy and oer-darkened ways