John Keats on Incense

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No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet   From chain-swung censer teeming; ...
John Keats
  Numb were the Beadsman’s fingers, while he told   His rosary, and while his frosted breath,   Like pious incense from a censer old,   Seem’d taking flight for heaven, without a death, Past the sweet Virgin’s picture, while his prayer he saith.
John Keats