O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down Thro' the clear windows of the morning, turn Thine angel eyes upon our western isle, Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring! The hills tell each other, and the listening… — William Blake Copy Share Image
“I hear longing in these notes. They go all the way to the past and forward to some future where I haven't yet arrived.” — Cath Crowley Copy Share Image
