The splendors of the firmament of time May be eclipsed, but are extinguished not; Like stars to their appointed height they climb And death is a low mist which cannot blot The brightness it may veil.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Percy Bysshe Shelley, John Keats (1832). “The Poetical Works of Coleridge, Shelley and Keats: Complete in One Volume”, p.411
