XXIX.
6 lines✦
midst whole heaps of spices lights a ball, -And now their odours arm’d against them fly:Some preciously by shatter’d porcelain fall, 3°And some by aromatic splinters die. EXE,And though by tempests of the prize bereft,
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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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