CRYPTICLXVI
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How by the desultory breeze caress'd, Like some coy maid half-yielding to her lover, It pours such sweet upbraiding, as must needs Tempt to repeat the wrong ! And now, its strings Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes Over delicious surges sink and rise, Such a soft floating witchery of sound As twilight Elfins make, when they at eve Voyage on gentle gales from Faery-Land, Where Melodies round honey-dropping flowers, Footless and wild, like birds of Paradise, Nor pause, nor perch, hovering on untam'd wing ! Coleridge ...because I am struck by him this moment.
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