I Think I Shall Be Among The

I Think I Shall Be Among The English Poets After My Death.

In A Drear-nighted December, Too Happy, Happy Brook, Thy Bubblings Ne'er Remember Apollo's Summer Look; But With A Sweet Forgetting, They Stay Their Crystal Fretting, Never, Never Petting About The Frozen Time.

When I Have Fears That I May Ceace To Be, Before My Pen Has Gleaned My Teaming Brain".

I Will Clamber Through The Clouds And Exist.

Fanatics Have Their Dreams, Wherewith They Weave A Paradise For A Sect.