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Inscribed in orange ink, upper right: "87"

Lettered inside image: "Repelling weeping Enion, blind & age-bent, into the fourfold | Desarts, Los first broke silence & began to utter his love. | lovely Enitharmon! I behold thy graceful forms | Moving beside me till, intoxicated with the woven labyrinth | Of beauty & perfection, my wild fibres shoot in veins | Of blood thro' all my nervous limbs: soon overgrown in roots | I shall be closed from thy sight, sieze therefore in thy hand | The small fibres as they shoot around me: draw out in pity | And let them run on the winds of thy bosom: I will fix them | With pulsations, we will divide them into Sons & Daughters, | To live in thy Bosom's translucence as in an eternal morning. | Enitharmon answer'd. No! I will sieze thy fibres & weave | Them, not as thou wilt but as I will, for I will Create | A round Womb beneath my bosom, lest I also be over woven | With Love; be thou assured I never will be thy slave. | Let Man's delight be Love; but Woman's delight be Pride. | In Eden our Loves were the same, here they are opposite. | I have Loves of my own, I will weave them in Albion's Spectre. | Cast thou in Jerusalem's shadows thy Loves; silk of liquid | Rubies, Jacinths, Crysolites, issuing from thy Furnaces. While | Jerusalem divides thy care, while thou carest for Jerusalem, | Know that I never will be thine: also thou hidest Vala: | From her these fibres shoot to shut me in a Grave. | You are Albion's Victim, he has set his Daughter in your path."