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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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Mummia

36 lines
Rupert Brooke·1887–1915·Bloomsbury Group
s those of old drank mummiaTo fire their limbs of lead,Making dead kings from AfricaStand pandar to their bed; Drunk on the dead, and medicinedWith spiced imperial dust,In a short night they reeled to findTen centuries of lust. So I, from paint, stone, tale, and rhyme,Stuffed love's infinity,And sucked all lovers of all timeTo rarify ecstasy. Helen's the hair shuts out from meVerona's livid skies;Gypsy the lips I press; and seeTwo Antonys in your eyes. The unheard invisible lovely deadLie with us in this place,And ghostly hands above my headClose face to straining face; Their blood is wine along our limbs;Their whispering voices wreatheSavage forgotten drowsy hymnsUnder the names we breathe; Woven from their tomb, and one with it,The night wherein we press;Their thousand pitchy pyres have litYour flaming nakedness. For the uttermost years have cried and clungTo kiss your mouth to mine;And hair long dust was caught, was flung,Hand shaken to hand divine, And Life has fired, and Death not shaded,All Time's uncounted bliss,And the height o' the world has flamed and faded,Love, that our love be this!