"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."
"Without minute neatness of execution, the sublime cannot exist! Grandeur of ideas is founded on precision of ideas."
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Source: William Blake (2008). “The Complete Poetry and Prose of William Blake”, p.646, Univ of California Press
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