Tuesday, 9 April 2013

For the Four-Fold Man

Blake, Blake, burning bright!
in the forests of the night!
What eternal hand or eye
dare form the Tyger of thy mind?

What the hand? What dread feet
did make the mind which four-fold sees?
And in what raging furnace hour
came the hammer to forge thy power?

Blake, Blake, burning bright!
You bless us with your piercing sight!
Surely now these satanic mills
must crumble, leaving meadow'd hills?

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