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 ...
Thou fair hair'd angel of the evening, Now, while the sun rests on the mountains light, Thy bright torch of ...
But in the Wine-presses the human grapes sing not nor dance: They howl and writhe in shoals of torment, in ...
How sweet I roam'd from field to field, And tasted all the summer's pride 'Til the prince of love beheld ...
The Sun does arise, And make happy the skies. The merry bells ring, To welcome the Spring. The sky-lark and ...
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