It is right it should be so, Man was made for joy and woe; And when this we rightly know, Through the world we safely go.
William Blake
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The Sick Rose
O Rose thou art sick.
The invisible worm
That flies in the night
In the howling storm
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
- William Blake -
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Some are born to sweet delight Some are born to endless night.
- William Blake -