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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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Holy Sonnet I: Tho Has Made Me

14 lines
H.D.·1886–1961
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ho has made me, and shall thy work decay?Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste;I run to death, and death meets me as fast,And all my pleasures are like yesterday.I dare not move my dim eyes any way,Despair behind, and death before doth castSuch terror, and my feeble flesh doth wasteBy sin in it, which it towards hell doth weigh.Only thou art above, and when towards theeBy thy leave I can look, I rise again;But our old subtle foe so tempteth meThat not one hour myself I can sustain.Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art,And thou like adamant draw mine iron heart.
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