Page:Life of William Blake, Pictor ignotus (Volume 2).djvu/117

100 {| align="center" 9. And these are the gems of the human soul The rubies and pearls of a lovesick eye, The countless gold of the aching heart, The martyr's groan anc the lover's sigh. 10. They are his meat, they are his drink; He feeds the beggar and the poor; To the wayfaring traveller For ever open is his door. 11. His grief is their eternal joy, They make the roofs and walls to ring; Till from the fire upon the hearth A little female babe doth spring. 12. 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. 13. But she comes to the man she loves, If young or old or rich or poor; They soon drive out the aged host, A beggar at another's door. 14. He wanders weeping far away, Until some other take him in; Oft blind and age-bent, sore distress'd, Until he can a maiden win. 15. And to allay his freezing age, The poor man takes her in his arms; The cottage fades before his sight, The garden and its lovely charms.
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