But in the Wine-presses the Human Grapes Sing not nor Dance (William Blake Poems)
But in the Wine-presses the human grapes sing not nor dance:They howl and writhe in shoals of torment, in fierce ...
But in the Wine-presses the human grapes sing not nor dance:They howl and writhe in shoals of torment, in fierce ...
The nameless shadowy female rose from out the breast of Orc, Her snaky hair brandishing in the winds of Enitharmon; ...
The sky is an immortal tent built by the Sons of Los: And every space that a man views around ...
Come, kings, and listen to my song: When Gwin, the son of Nore, Over the nations of the North His ...
But in the Wine-presses the human grapes sing not nor dance: They howl and writhe in shoals of torment, in ...
Truly My Satan thou art but a Dunce And dost not know the Garment from the Man Every Harlot was ...
The sky is an immortal tent built by the Sons of Los: And every space that a man views around ...
AFRICA I will sing you a song of Los. the Eternal Prophet: He sung it to four harps at the ...
The Argument. Rintrah roars & shakes his fires in the burdend air; Hungry clouds swag on the deep Once meek, ...
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