The Complete Poetry and Prose
I bought this probably fifteen years ago at The Strand in NYC. It makes me sad to think that enough time has passed in my own life and in the parallel life of this book that its pages have already begun to yellow. Beginning at the outer edge of each, at just that point where it rubs up against the outside world, the yellowing works its way inward, forming a kind of aura around the words, which will themselves succumb to this ineluctable discoloration. Eventually the edges will crack and the pages will start to crumble and the whole thing will biodegrade and then The Complete Poetry and Prose of William Blake will be no more. And this will no doubt occur long after I myself have succumbed to the same process.
Thanks a lot, William Blake.