/0/8981/coverbig.jpg?v=20220108105248)
We are like whirling tops and rolling balls-
For even when the sleepy night-time falls,
Old Curiosity still thrusts us on,
Like the cruel Angel who goads forth the sun.
The end of fate fades ever through the air,
And, being nowhere, may be anywhere
Where a man runs, hope waking in his breast,
For ever like a madman, seeking res
COPYRIGHT(©) 2022