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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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The Art of Poetry

24 lines
John Dryden·1631–1700
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poem, where we all perfections find,Is not the work of a fantastic mind;There must be care, and time, and skill, and pains;Not the first head of inexperienced brains.Yet sometimes artless poets, when the rageOf a warm fancy does their minds engage,Puffed with vain pride, presume they understand,And boldly take the trumpet in their hand:Their fustian muse each accident confounds;Nor can she fly, but rise by leaps and bounds,Till, their small stock of learning quickly spent,Their poem dies for want of nourishment.In vain mankind the hot-brained fool decries,No branding censures can unveil his eyes;With impudence the laurel they invade,Resolved to like the monsters they have made.Virgil, compared to them, is flat and dry;And Homer understood not poetry:Against their merit if this age rebel,To future times for justice they appeal.But waiting till mankind shall do them right,And bring their works triumphantly to light,Neglected heaps we in bye-corners lay,Where they become to worms and moths a prey.
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