Fragment: Igniculus Desiderii
To thirst and find no fill—to wail and wander
With short unsteady steps—to pause and ponder--
To feel the blood run through the veins and tingle
Where busy thought and blind sensation mingle;
To nurse the image of unfelt caresses
Till dim imagination just possesses
The half-created shadow, then all the night
Sick...
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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