Oh 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 with his dark secret love,
does thy life destroy.
William Blake
No responses
Oh 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 with his dark secret love,
does thy life destroy.
William Blake
No responses
