"Poetry should... should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance". - John Keats

We have woven a web, you and I, attached to this world but a separate world of our own invention.

Knowledge enormous makes a god of me.

X.

I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried — “La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!”

XI.

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill’s side.

XII.

And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.