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On a poet’s lips I slept
par
Benjamin Britten
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On a poet's lips I slept Dreaming like a love-adept In the sound his breathing kept; Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses But feeds on the aëreal kisses Of shapes that haunt thought's wildernesses He will watch from dawn to gloom The lake-reflected sun illume The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom Nor heed nor see, what things they be; But from these create he can Forms more real than living man Nurslings of immortality!
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