John Keats

There is a game that asks, "What would Shakespeare's (or Milton's, or whosever) reputation be if he or she had died, like Keats, at twenty-five?" In almost every case, the answer is "Nothing."

When I Have Fears [That I May Cease to Be]

by John Keats (1795–1821)

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16

When I have  fears that I may cease to be
  Before my  pen has gleaned my teeming brain,   
Before high-piled books, in charactery,
  Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starred face,
  Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
  Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,

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