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All English Sonnets


I dreamt that I was dreaming in my dream
But what was it? I ask you not to ask,
Because to place a finger on its theme,
If not impossible, is still a task.

And though its fragrance in my psyche lingers,
Yet when I try to figure its extent,
It quickly slips like sand through my fingers
Without my finding whence it came and went.

For if I tell it, it will tear asunder,
Its pleasurable aftermath may flee.
Pray, let it hold me in its’ nebulous wonder,
And what was it? Pray, do not ask me.

And if I want to tell it, I can still ,
But though I can, I do not think I will.

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