"Ah, sunflower, weary of time, Who countest the steps of the sun, Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveller's journey is done; Where the youth pined away with desire And the pale virgin shrouded in snow Arise from their graves, and aspire Where my sunflower wishes to go."
"It is not because angels are holier than men or devils that makes them angels, but because they do not expect holiness from one another, but from God only."
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Source: William Blake (1977). “The Portable William Blake”, p.455, Penguin
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