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Percy Bysshe Shelley
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I pant for the music which is divine My heart in its thirst is a dying flower; Pour forth the sound like enchanted wine Loosen the notes in a silver shower; Like a herbless plain for the gentle rain I gasp, I faint, till they wake again Let me drink of the spirit of that sweet sound More, O more! I am thirsting yet It loosens the serpent which care has bound Upon my heart, to stifle it: The dissolving strain, through every vein Passes into my heart and brain
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