It was a miracle of rare device, A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
Ateighteenourconvictions arehillsfromwhichwe look; at forty-five they are caves in which we hide.
But O the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone, and never must return! Thee shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves, With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, And all their echoes mourn.
Gott ist tot: aber so wie die Art der Menschen ist, wird es vielleicht nochJahrtausende lang H o« hlen geben, in denen man seinen Schatten zeigt.Und wirwir mu« ssen auch noch seinen Schatten besiegen! God is dead; but given the way of men, there may still be caves for thousands of years inwhich his shadow will be shown.And wewe still have to vanquish his shadow, too.
Years and years ago, when I was a boy, when there were wolves in Wales, and birds the colour of red-flannel petticoats whisked past the harp-shaped hills, when we sang and wallowed all night and day in caves that smelt like Sundayafternoons in damp front farmhouse parlours, and we chased, with the jawbones of deacons, the English and the bears, before the motor car, before the wheel, before the duchess-faced horse, when we rode the daft and happy hills bareback, it snowed and it snowed.
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