"Through the dancing poppies stole A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul."
"Dance and Provencal song and sunburnt mirth! On for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene! With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth."
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Source: 'Ode to a Nightingale' (1820) st. 2
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