…from the quills of the dead white poets
William Blake (1757 – 1827)
Never seek to tell thy love Love that never told could be; For the gentle wind does move Silently, invisibly. I told my love, I told my love, I told her all my heart, Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears – Ah, she doth depart. Soon as she was gone from me A traveller came by Silently, invisibly – O, was no deny.