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And all thy moans flew o'er my roof, but I have called them

down.

Wilt thou, O queen, enter my house? 'Tis given thee to enter, And to return: fear nothing; enter with thy virgin feet."

IV

The eternal gates' terrific porter lifted the northern bar;
Thel entered in, and saw the secrets of the land unknown.
She saw the couches of the dead, and where the fibrous root
Of every heart on earth infixes deep its restless twists;

A land of sorrows and of tears, where never smile was seen.
She wandered in the land of clouds, through valleys dark,

listening

105

Dolours and lamentations, wailing oft beside a dewy grave. 110 She stood in silence, listening to the voices of the ground,

Till to her own grave-plot she came, and there she sat down, And heard this voice of sorrow breathed from the hollow pit: "Why cannot the ear be closed to its own destruction?

Or the glistening eye to the poison of a smile?
Why are eyelids stored with arrows ready drawn,
Where a thousand fighting-men in ambush lie,

115

Or an eye of gifts and graces showering fruits and coinèd gold?
Why a tongue impressed with honey from every wind?
Why an ear, a whirlpool fierce to draw creations in?
Why a nostril wide-inhaling terror, trembling, and affright? . . .
The virgin started from her seat, and with a shriek
Fled back unhindered till she came into the vales of Har.

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THE GARDEN OF LOVE

I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
A chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this chapel were shut,

And "Thou shalt not" writ over the door;
So I turned to the Garden of Love,
That so many sweet flowers bore:

5

And I saw it was filled with graves,

And tombstones where flowers should be;

ΤΟ

And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds, And binding with briars my joys and desires.

1794.

THE MENTAL TRAVELLER

I travelled through a land of men,
A land of men and women too,

And heard and saw such dreadful things
As cold earth-wanderers never knew.

For there the babe is born in joy
That was begotten in dire woe;
Just as we reap in joy the fruit
Which we in bitter tears did sow.

And if the babe is born a boy,

He's given to a woman old,
Who nails him down upon a rock,
Catches his shrieks in cups of gold.

5

IO

She binds iron thorns around his head;
She pierces both his hands and feet;

She cuts his heart out at his side,
To make it feel both cold and heat.

15

Her fingers number every nerve,
Just as a miser counts his gold;
She lives upon his shrieks and cries,

And she grows young as he grows old:

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Till he becomes a bleeding youth,
And she becomes a virgin bright;
Then he rends up his manacles,
And binds her down for his delight.

He plants himself in all her nerves
Just as a husbandman his mould,
And she becomes his dwelling-place
And garden fruitful seventy-fold.

An agèd shadow soon he fades,
Wand'ring round an earthly cot,
Full-filled all with gems and gold
Which he by industry had got.

30

And these are the gems of the human soul,

The rubies and pearls of a love-sick eye,
The countless gold of the aching heart,

35

The martyr's groan and the lover's sigh.

They are his meat, they are his drink;

He feeds the beggar and the poor
And the wayfaring traveller:

Forever open is his door.

40

His grief is their eternal joy;

They make the roofs and walls to ring;
Till from the fire on the hearth

A little female babe does spring.

And she is all of solid fire

And gems and gold, that none his hand
Dares stretch to touch her baby form
Or wrap her in his swaddling-band.

But she comes to the man she loves,
If young or old, or rich or poor;
They soon drive out the agèd host,
A beggar at another's door.

He wanders weeping far away,
Until some other take him in;

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Oft blind and age-bent, sore distrest,
Until he can a maiden win.

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45

25

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The bread and wine of her sweet smile,
The wild game of her roving eye,
Does him to infancy beguile;

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