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A velvet flute-note fell down pleasantly,Upon the bosom of that harmony,And sailed and sailed incessantly,As if a petal from a wild-rose blownHad fluttered down upon that pool of tone,And boatwise dropped o' the convex sideAnd floated down the glassy tideAnd clarified and glorifiedThe solemn spaces where the shadows bide.From the warm concave of that fluted noteSomewhat, half song, half odour forth did floatAs if a rose might somehow be a throat.
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