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Keats's heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains his sense.
Great Poets of Catalogdom
"Not too bad, except that my heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk. And you? Are you okay?
Stout Cortez and Some Wild Surmises
Limerick On A Grecian Urn
"Do we know for sure it's a concussion and not just a Keatsian swoon?"
"On earth that is all ya know and all ye need know- except at tax time."