And this is the Song of Los, the Song that he sings on his Watch.
O lovely mild Jerusalem! O Shiloh of Mount Ephraim!
I see thy Gates of precious stones ; thy Walls of gold & silver.
Thou art the soft reflected Image of the Sleeping Man,
Who stretch'd on Albion's rocks reposes amidst his Twenty-eight
Cities; where Beulah lovely terminates, in the hills & valleys of Albion.
Cities not yet embodied in Time and Space: plant ye
The Seeds, O Sisters, in the bosom of Time& Space's womb
To spring up for Jerusalem: lovely Shadow of Sleeping Albion.
Why wilt thou rend thyself apart & build an Earthly Kingdom,
To reign in pride & to opress & to mix the Cup of Delusion,
O thou that dwellest with Babylon! Come forth, O lovely-one!
I see thy Form, O lovely mild Jerusalem, Wing'd with Six Wings
In the opacous Bosom of the Sleeper, lovely Three fold
In Head & Heart & Reins, three Universes of love & beauty.
Thy forehead bright: Holiness to the Lord: with Gates of pearl
Reflects Eternity beneath thy azure wings of feathery down,
Ribb'd delicate & cloth'd with feather'd gold & azure & purple,
From thy white shoulders shadowing, purity in holiness!
Thence feather'd with soft crimson of the ruby bright as fire
Spreading into the azure Wings which like a canopy
Bends over thy immortal Head, in which Eternity dwells.
--William Blake, Jerusalem