And a spiral winds from the worlds to the suns, And every star that shines In the path of degrees for ever runs, And the spiral octave climbs; And a seven-fold heaven round every one In the spiral order twines.
"The Orchard of Tears"
Sax Rohmer
He twines his arms more closely around her.
"The Silent Mill"
Hermann Sudermann
To me alone, Pushed from his chair of regal heritage, The Present is the vassal of the Past: So that, in that I have lived, do I live, And cannot die, and am, in having been, A portion of the pleasant yesterday, Thrust forward on to-day and out of place; A body journeying onward, sick with toil, The lithe limbs bow'd as with a heavy weight And all the senses weaken'd in all save that Which, long ago, they had glean'd and garner'd up Into the granaries of memory- The clear brow, bulwark of the precious brain, Now seam'd and chink'd with years-and all the while The light soul twines and mingles with the growths Of vigorous early days, attracted, won, Married, made one with, molten into all The beautiful in Past of act or place.
"The Suppressed Poems of Alfred Lord Tennyson"
Alfred Lord Tennyson