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.<br /><br />John Keats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lines-from-endymion/
