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There, in close covert by some brook,
Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from Day's garish eye,
While the bee, with honied thigh,
That at her flow'ry work doth sing,
And the waters murmuring

With such consort as they keep,

Entice the dewy-feather'd sleep;

And let some strange mysterious dream Wave at his wings in airy stream

Of lively portraiture display'd,

Softly on my eyelids laid.

And, as I wake, sweet music breathe

Above, about, or underneath,

Sent by some Spirit to mortals good,

Or th' unseen Genius of the wood.

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But let my due feet never fail
To walk the studious cloister's pale,
And love the high-embowed roof,
With antic pillars massy proof,
And storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light:
There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full-voic'd choir below,

In service high, and anthems clear,

As may with sweetness, through mine ear,

Dissolve me into ecstasies,

And bring all Heav'n before mine eyes.

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