Th' imperial ensign, which full high advanc'd Shone like a meteor, streaming to the wind. — John Milton

So scented the grim Feature, and upturn'd

His nostril wide into the murky air,

Sagacious of his quarry from so far.

Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye,

In every gesture dignity and love.

To know

That which before us lies in daily life

Is the prime wisdom.