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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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SONG.

29 lines
Thomas Gray·1716–1771
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My days have been so wondrous free,The little birds that flyWith careless ease from tree to tree,Were but as bless'd as I. 2 Ask gliding waters, if a tearOf mine increased their stream?Or ask the flying gales, if e'erI lent one sigh to them? 3 But now my former days retire,And I'm by beauty caught,The tender chains of sweet desireAre fix'd upon my thought. 4 Ye nightingales! ye twisting pines!Ye swains that haunt the grove!Ye gentle echoes! breezy winds!Ye close retreats of lore! 5 With all of Nature, all of Art,Assist the dear design;Oh teach a young, unpractised heartTo make my Nancy mine. 6 The very thought of change I hate,As much as of despair;Nor ever covet to be great,Unless it be for her. 7 'Tis true, the passion in my mindIs mix'd with soft distress;Yet while the fair I love is kind,I cannot wish it less. * * * * *
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