Page:The poetical works of William Blake; a new and verbatim text from the manuscript engraved and letterpress originals (1905).djvu/233

 Rossetti MS, 191

What Transgressions I commit Are for thy Transgressions fit. They thy Harlots, thou their slave ; And my bed becomes their Grave.

Poor, pale, pitiable form * That I follow in a storm ; Iron tears & groans of lead Bind around my aching head.

When a Man has Married a Wife, he finds out whether Her knees & elbows are only glued together.