A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: br Its loviliness increases; it will never br Pass into nothingness; but still will keep br A bower quiet for us, and a sleep br Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. br Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing br A flowery band to bind us to the earth, br Spite of despondance, of the inhuman dearth br Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, br Of all the unhealthy and o`er-darkened ways br Made for our searching: yes, inspite of all, br Some shape of beauty moves away the pall br From our dark spirits.