Uploaded September 2008 | Updated September 2026, 3 weeks ago

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Ah, Sunflower, weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the Sun,
Seeking after that sweet golden clime,
Where the traveller's journey is done.

Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow.
Arise from the their graves, and aspire,
Where my Sunflower wishes to go.

(William Blake)