Some things have to be believed to be seen.
The handwriting on the wall may be a forgery.
Time, you old gipsy man, Will you not stay, Put up your caravan Just for one day?
Did anyone ever have a boring dream?
I did not pray Him to lay bare
The mystery to me,
Enough the rose was Heaven to smell,
And His own face to see.
Without a wish, without a will, I stood upon that silent hill And stared into the sky until My eyes were blind with stars and still I stared into the sky.
I saw with open eyes, Singing birds sweet, Sold in the shops, For the people to eat, Sold in the shops of, Stupidity Street.
God loves an idle rainbow, no less than laboring seas.
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