‘Deep in the shady sadness of a vale Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, Far from the fiery noon, and eve’s one star, Sat gray-hair’d Saturn, quiet as a stone…’
Hyperion, I. 1-4
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I have said nothing yet of our getting on among the loose stones large and small sometimes one two sometimes on three, sometimes four legs – sometimes two and stick, sometimes three and stick, then four again, then two, then a jump, so that we kept ringing changes on foot, hand, Stick…’
John Keats
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