Our souls sit close and silently within,
and their own webs from their own entrails spin;
and when eyes meet far off, our sense is such,
that, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch.
John Dryden
and their own webs from their own entrails spin;
and when eyes meet far off, our sense is such,
that, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch.
John Dryden
Attached Image:
Sweet the coming on
Of grateful evening mild; then silent night
With this her solemn bird and this fair moon,
And these the gems of heaven, her starry train.
--John Milton
