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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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For me silks are outspread.

14 lines
H.D.·1886–1961
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 And now the lowest pine-branchIs drawn across the disk of the sun.Old friends who will forget me soonI must go on,Towards those blue death-mountainsI have forgot so long. In the marsh grassesThere lies foreverMy last treasure,With the hope of my heart. The ice is glazing over,Torn lanterns flutter,On the leaves is snow.
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