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terror driv’n to madness, bound to hold a rod

      Over her shrinking shoulders all the day; & all the night

      To turn the wheel of false desire: and longings that wake her womb

      To the abhorred birth of cherubs in the human form

      That live a pestilence & die a meteor & are no more.

      Till the child dwell with one he hates. and do the deed he loaths

      And the impure scourge force his seed into its unripe birth

      E’er yet his eyelids can behold the arrows of the day.

      Does the whale worship at thy footsteps as the hungry dog?

      Or does he scent the mountain prey, because his nostrils wide

      Draw in the ocean? does his eye discern the flying cloud

      As the ravens eye? or does he measure the expanse like the vulture?

      Does the still spider view the cliffs where eagles hide their young?

      Or does the fly rejoice. because the harvest is brought in?

      Does not the eagle scorn the earth & despise the treasures beneath?

      But the mole knoweth what is there, & the worm shall tell it thee.

      Does not the worm erect a pillar in the mouldering church yard?

      And a palace of eternity in the jaws of the hungry grave

      Over his porch these words are written. Take thy bliss O Man!

      And sweet shall be thy taste & sweet thy infant joys renew!

      Infancy, fearless, lustful, happy! nestling for delight

      In laps of pleasure; Innocence! honest, open, seeking

      The vigorous joys of morning light; open to virgin bliss.

      Who taught thee modesty, subtil modesty! child of night & sleep

      When thou awakest, wilt thou dissemble all thy secret joys

      Or wert thou not awake when all this mystery was disclos’d!

      Then com’st thou forth a modest virgin knowing to dissemble

      With nets found under thy night pillow, to catch virgin joy,

      And brand it with the name of whore; & sell it in the night,

      In silence. ev’n without a whisper, and in seeming sleep:

      Religious dreams and holy vespers, light thy smoky fires:

      Once were thy fires lighted by the eyes of honest morn

      And does my Theotormon seek this hypocrite modesty!

      This knowing, artful, secret, fearful, cautious, trembling hypocrite.

      Then is Oothoon a whore indeed! and all the virgin joys

      Of life are harlots: and Theotormon is a sick mans dream

      And Oothoon is the crafty slave of selfish holiness.

      But Oothoon is not so, a virgin fill’d with virgin fancies

      Open to joy and to delight where ever beauty appears

      If in the morning sun I find it: there my eyes are fix’d

      In happy copulation; if in evening mild. wearied with work;

      Sit on a bank and draw the pleasures of this free born joy.

      The moment of desire! the moment of desire! The virgin

      That pines for man; shall awaken her womb to enormous joys

      In the secret shadows of her chamber; the youth shut up from

      The lustful joy. shall forget to generate. & create an amorous image

      In the shadows of his curtains and in the folds of his silent pillow.

      Are not these the places of religion? the rewards of continence?

      The self enjoyings of self denial? Why dost thou seek religion?

      Is it because acts are not lovely, that thou seekest solitude,

      Where the horrible darkness is impressed with reflections of desire.

      Father of jealousy. be thou accursed from the earth!

      Why hast thou taught my Theotormon this accursed thing?

      Till beauty fades from off my shoulders darken’d and cast out,

      A solitary shadow wailing on the margin of non-entity.

      I cry, Love! Love! Love! happy happy Love! free as the mountain wind!

      Can that be Love, that drinks another as a sponge drinks water?

      That clouds with jealousy his nights, with weepings all the day:

      To spin a web of age around him. grey and hoary! dark!

      Till his eyes sicken at the fruit that hangs before his sight.

      Such is self-love that envies all! a creeping skeleton

      With lamplike eyes watching around the frozen marriage bed.

      But silken nets and traps of adamant will Oothoon spread,

      And catch for thee girls of mild silver, or of furious gold;

      I’ll lie beside thee on a bank & view their wanton play

      In lovely copulation bliss on bliss with Theotormon:

      Red as the rosy morning, lustful as the firstborn beam,

      Oothoon shall view his dear delight, nor e’er with jealous cloud

      Come in the heaven of generous love; nor selfish blightings bring.

      Does the sun walk in glorious raiment, on the secret floor

      Where the cold miser spreads his gold? or does the bright cloud drop

      On his stone threshold? does his eye behold the beam that brings

      Expansion to the eye of pity? or will he bind himself

      Beside the ox to thy hard furrow? does not that mild beam blot

      The bat, the owl, the glowing tyger, and the king of night.

      The sea fowl takes the wintry blast. for a cov’ring to her limbs:

      And the wild snake, the pestilence to adorn him with gems & gold.

      And trees. & birds. & beasts. & men. behold their eternal joy.

      Arise you little glancing wings, and sing your infant joy!

      Arise and drink your bliss, for every thing that lives is holy!

      Thus every morning wails Oothoon. but Theotormon sits

      Upon the margind ocean conversing with shadows dire.

      The Daughters of Albion hear her woes, & eccho back her sighs.

       * * * *The End * * * *

      For Children: The Gates of Paradise (1793)

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