But weary to the hearts of all
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he burning glare, the barren reach29 Of Santa Rosa's weathered beach,And Pensacola's ruined wall. And weary was the long patrol, The thousand miles of shapeless strand,
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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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