To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.
(Picture is Ancient of Days. Excerpt from Auguries of Innocence. Both by William Blake (1757-1827))
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Every blade of grass has its angel who bends over it and whispers "Grow, grow."
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.
(Picture is Ancient of Days. Excerpt from Auguries of Innocence. Both by William Blake (1757-1827))
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