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All English Sonnets

From my life’s ceaseless hustle, bustle.
Few unpermitted minutes, when I steal,
And stringing every fiber, every muscle,
Elope from this life’s woe and weal.

I quieten agitated, noisy throbs,
That, with my senses, wage a fierce tussle,
And make my soul indulge in silken sobs,
And cadences unheard, ebb and rustle.

And skim my psyche’s hidden juicy cream,
To make the consecrated minutes hustle,
With gay abandon, blowing muted whistle,
I dream that I am dreaming in my dream.

O! this way are my melodies created,
And this way are my verses consecrated.

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