Thank you, John Keats

A thing of beauty is a joy forever.


Its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness;


but still will keep a bower quiet for us


and a sleep, full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.


Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing a flowery band
to bind us to the earth.

...yes, in spite of all, some shape of beauty
moves away the pall from our dark spirits...