9th March 1825

I had a very odd dream last night & I take it as an ill omen for I dont expect that the book will meet a better fate I thought I had one of the proofs of the new poems from London & after looking at it awhile it shrank thro my hands like sand & crumbled into dust the birds were singing in Oxey Wood at 6 o clock this evening as loud & various as at May

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