The Sick Rose
William Blake
Oh rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night
In the howling storm
Hath found out thy bed
Of crimson joy,
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
Oh rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night
In the howling storm
Hath found out thy bed
Of crimson joy,
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
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