Lines from Endymion by John Keats
A thing of beauty is a joy forever
It's 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 o'er darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits.
