But strength alone though of the Muses born Is like a fallen angel: trees uptorn, Darkness, and worms, and shrouds, and sepulchres Delight it; for it feeds upon the burrs, And thorns of life; forgetting the great end Of poesy, that it should be a friend To sooth the cares, and lift the thoughts of man.
john keatsI dropped my pen; and listened to the wind That sang of trees uptorn and vessels tost; A midnight harmony and wholly lost To the general sense of men by chains confined Of business, care, or pleasure, or resigned To timely sleep.