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Coming Awake
Coming Awake, by D.H. Lawrence

WHEN I woke, the lake-lights were quivering on the wall, 
  The sunshine swam in a shoal across and across, 
And a hairy, big bee hung over the primulas 
  In the window, his body black fur, and the sound of him cross. 
There was something I ought to remember: and yet         5
  I did not remember. Why should I? The running lights 
And the airy primulas, oblivious 
  Of the impending bee—they were fair enough sights. 

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