When I have fears that I may cease to be (John Keats)

When I have fears that I may cease to be

by John Keats

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
Before high-pilèd 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,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love—then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.


Dear George,

How are you, my brother? I’m writing you because something crossed my mind. Things haven’t been going great for me. This afternoon, I was casually sitting on my couch in front of the fireplace. A glass of fine wine on the side: a lovely, cosy evening. Well… It seemed a lovely evening. I started thinking… Thinking about death. What if I die tomorrow? Mother died, father died… Even Thomas has died. I have fears… Fears that my end is near. I have still so much to write, and so little time left. My head is full of unwritten stories, poems, letters… There are so many books to be written; holding my words like a grain silo holds grain. I want the fame. I want the recognition. I deserve it. What if I die tomorrow? I went out to get some fresh air, and look up the sky. Just to clear my head. The clouds I saw, depressed me even more. I saw clouds that floated so peacefully. It made me thinking even more. I would never get the chance to try the sweet taste of love. Not any kind of love, no, not any kind. The real kind of love, the best feeling love can give. If I die tomorrow… I can’t even get close to sparkles of that feeling when I die tomorrow. There’s too little time to find love. Never will I experience the magical feeling of blinding adoration for someone. But then I went back inside. I sat down, and my eye fell on the globe next to my sofa. And all my fear rushed out my body. Because I realised, what does it even matter? In the end, we’re all the same, little creatures subservient to the great, cruel, wide world. What’s love and fame in a world as big as ours?

It doesn’t matter, it does not.

Life was never what it seemed, not what I’ve thought.

Yours sincerely,



by Anonymous


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