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Tho' dead, they appear upon my path,

Notwithstanding my terrible wrath:

They beg, they entreat, they drop their tears,

Fill'd full of hopes, fill'd full of fears—

With a thousand Angels upon the Wind,

Pouring disconsolate from behind

To drive them off, & before my way

A frowning Thistle implores my stay.

What to others a trifle appears

Fills me full of smiles or tears;

For double the vision my eyes do see,

And a double vision is always with me.

With my inward eye, 'tis an old Man grey;

With my outward, a Thistle across my way.

"If thou goest back," the thistle said,

"Thou art to endless woe betray'd;

For here does Theotormon lower.

And here is Enitharmon's bower;