"Through the dancing poppies stole A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul."
"A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: 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."
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Source: Endymion bk. 1, l. 1 (1818)
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