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/34d2d15e-409b-4a8c-b906-81a2b8118645
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