And there he stood
words emerging
in Robert's old notebook,
its pages now reversed,
on a copper plate
in a journeyman's workshop,
the reverse of 'Ancient Order, '
out in Lambeth Marsh,
in the shadow of Boehme,
from myriad mindstreams,
in a world fearful
of another Bastille,
the flames of Revolution,
a darksome hymn for the Ages
his 'fearful symmetry'
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