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W. Blake - Original.
"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.
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Worms Reply :
"In Bloom Together"
A Rose, thou art delicious
as thy scent draws me ;
Our nature is attraction,
as your thorns grew
with room for me !
Crawl into my linens
to keep thy secrets safe!
Yer bloom'd for me !
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