"Through the dancing poppies stole A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul."
"This living hand, now warm and capable Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold And in the icy silence of the tomb, So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights That thou would wish thine own heart dry of blood, So in my veins red life might stream again, And thou be conscience-calm'd. See, here it is-- I hold it towards you."
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Source: 'This living hand, now warm and capable' (written 1819)
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