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— William Blake

Does the Eagle know what is in the pit?

Or wilt thou go ask the Mole:

Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod?

Or Love in a golden bowl?

…

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noun

One who, or that which, accelerates.

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IV

17 lines
Ezra Pound·1885–1972
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f my praise her grace effaces,Then 'tis not my heart that showeth,But the skilless tongue that sowethWords unworthy of her graces.Tongue, that hath me so betrayed,Were my heart but here displayed,Then were sung her fitting praises. CANZON: OF INCENSE I Thy gracious ways,O Lady of my heart, haveO'er all my thought their golden glamour cast;As amber torch-flames, where strange men-at-armsTread softly 'neath the damask shield of night,Rise from the flowing steel in part reflected,So on my mailed thought that with thee goeth,Though dark the way, a golden glamour falleth.
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