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.

— Percy Bysshe Shelley
https://palimpseste.vercel.app/#text/1b1d6960-0317-43a5-9de9-668b0b0a3269
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