III
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hough I've roamed through many places,None there is that my heart trowethFair as that wherein fair growethOne whose laud here interlacesTuneful words, that I've essayed.Let this tune be gently playedWhich my voice herward upraises.
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— William Blake
Does the Eagle know what is in the pit?
Or wilt thou go ask the Mole:
Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod?
Or Love in a golden bowl?
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