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Inscribed in orange ink, upper right: "90"

Lettered inside image: "The Feminine separates from the Masculine & both from Man, | Ceasing to be His Emanations, Life to Themselves assuming : | And while they circumscribe his Brain, & while they circumscribe | His Heart, & while they circumscribe his Loins: a Veil & Net | Of Veins of red Blood grows around them like a scarlet robe, | Covering them from the sight of Man like the woven Veil of Sleep, | Such as the Flowers of Beulah weave to be their Funeral Mantles: | But dark, opake, tender to touch, & painful: & agonizing | To the embrace of love, & to the mingling of soft fibres | Of tender affection, that no more the Masculine mingles | With the Feminine, but the sublime is shut out from the Pathos | In howling torment, to build stone walls of separation, compelling | The Pathos to weave curtains of hiding secrecy from the torment. | Bowen & Conwenna stood on Skiddaw cutting the Fibres | Of Benjamin from Chester's River: loud the River, loud, the Mersey | And the Ribble, thunder into the Irish sea, as the Twelve Sons | Of Albion drank & imbibed the Life & eternal Form of Luvah. | Cheshire & Lancashire & Westmoreland groan in anguish. | As they cut the fibres from the Rivers he sears them with hot | Iron of his Forge, & fixes them into Bones of chalk & Rock. | Conwenna sat above: with solemn cadences she drew | Fibres of life out from the Bones into her golden Loom. | Hand had his Furnace on Highgate's heights & it reach'd | To Brockley Hills across the Thames; he with double Boadicea | In cruel pride cut Reuben apart from the Hills of Surrey, | Comingling with Luvah & with the Sepulcher of Luvah. | For the Male is a Furnace of beryll : the Female is a golden Loom. | Los cries: No Individual ought to appropriate to Himself | Or to his Emanation, any of the Universal Characteristics | Of David or of Eve, of the Woman, or of the Lord, | Of Reuben or of Benjamin, of Joseph or Judah or Levi. | Those who dare appropriate to themselves Universal Attributes | Are the Blasphemous Selfhoods & must be broken asunder. | A Vegetated Christ & a Virgin Eve, are the Hermaphroditic | Blasphemy: by his Maternal Birth he is that Evil-One | And his Maternal Humanity must be put off Eternally, | Lest the Sexual Generation swallow up Regeneration : | Come Lord Jesus, take on thee the Satanic Body of Holiness! | So Los cried in the Valleys of Middlesex in the Spirit of Prophecy, | While in Selfhood Hand & Hyle & Bowen & Skofeld appropriate | The Divine Names: seeking to Vegetate the Divine Vision | In a corporeal & ever dying Vegetation & Corruption: | Mingling with Luvah in One, they become One Great Satan. | Loud scream the Daughters of Albion beneath the Tongs & Hammer, | Dolorous are their lamentations in the burning Forge: | They drink Reuben & Benjamin as the iron drinks the fire: | They are red hot with cruelty: raving along the Banks of Thames | And on Tyburn's Brook, among the howling Victims in loveliness. | While Hand & Hyle condense the Little-ones & erect them into | A mighty Temple even to the stars: but they Vegetate | Beneath Los's Hammer, that Life may not be blotted out. | For Los said: When the Individual appropriates Universality | He divides into Male & Female: & when the Male & Female | Appropriate Individuality, they become an Eternal Death. | Hermaphroditic worshippers of a God of cruelty & law! | Your Slaves & Captives you compell to worship a God of Mercy. | These are the Demonstrations of Los & the blows of my mighty Hammer. | So Los spoke. And the Giants of Albion terrified & ashamed | With Los's thunderous Words, began to build trembling rocking Stones, | For his Words roll in thunders & lightnings among the Temples, | Terrified rocking to & fro upon the earth, & sometimes | Resting in a Circle in Maiden or in Straithness or Dura, | Plotting to devour Albion & Los the friend of Albion. | Denying in private, mocking God & Eternal Life: & in Public | Collusion, calling themselves Deists, Worshipping the Maternal | Humanity: calling it Nature, and Natural Religion. | But still the thunder of Los peals loud & thus the thunders cry: | These beautiful Witchcrafts of Albion, are gratifyd by Cruelty."