"What though I am not wealthy in the dower 

 Of spanning wisdom; though I do not know 

 The shiftings of the mighty winds that blow 

 Hither and thither all, the changing thoughts 

 Of man: though no great minist'ring reason sorts 

 Out the dark mysteries of human souls 

 To clear conceiving: yet there ever rolls 

 A vast idea before me, and I glean 

 Therefrom my liberty." 



John Keats 



Sleep and Poetry 



