When the sun rises, do you not see a round disc of fire somewhat like a guinea? O no, no, I see an innumerable company of the heavenly host crying Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty. – William Blake
The road winds up the hill to meet the height; Beyond the locust hedge it curves from sight — And yet no man would foolishly contend. That where he sees it not, it makes an end. – Emma Carleton
