And then poore Aspen wretch, neglected thou / Bath'd in a cold quicksilver sweat wilt lye / A veryer ghost than I […].
As a seer of beautiful visions, or, shall we say, of visions of the beautiful, he is never weary of celebrating the poet and his vocation.
We don't know exactly how much the load will weigh, so we'll add in a fudge factor to make sure we don't underestimate.
She came […] into the compassed window.
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