That is the fear she has—the fear
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is soul may beat and be beating at her dull senseLike blue Mary’s angel, dovelike against a paneBlinded to all but the grey, spiritless room It looks in on, and must go on looking in on.
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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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