And thine the iron caves and dens
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herein the flame our war-fleet drives; The fiery vaults, whose breath is men'sMost dear and precious lives. Ah, ever, when with storm sublimeDread Nature clears our murky air,
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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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