"Through the dancing poppies stole A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul."
"To feel forever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever-or else swoon in death."
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Source: John Keats (1859). “The Poetical Works of John Keats: With a Life”, p.438
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