O for ten years, that I may overwhelm / Myself in poesy; so I may do the deed / That my own soul has to itself decreed.
Severn - I - lift me up - I am dying - I shall die easy; don't be frightened - be firm, and thank God it has come.
No stir of air was there, Not so much life as on a summer's day Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass, But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.
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