But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven.
4 lines✦
s some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, {027} Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
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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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