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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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I. 3.

20 lines
Thomas Gray·1716–1771
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Cold is Cadwallo's tongue,That hush'd the stormy main; 30Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed;Mountains, ye mourn in vainModred, whose magic songMade huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topt head.On dreary Arvon's shore they lie, 35Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale:Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail;The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by.Dear lost companions of my tuneful art,Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, 40Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart,Ye died amidst your dying country's cries--No more I weep. They do not sleep.On yonder cliffs, a grisly band,I see them sit, they linger yet, 45Avengers of their native land:With me in dreadful harmony they join,And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.
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