Struck last night by the similarity of Blake's passages re: cry in the four Los poems (Book, Songs, and the two in Four Zoas):
"they sing unceasing to the notes of my immortal hand.
Reverberates the living harmony...
[The Deep] lost in infinite humming wings, vanishes with a cry.
The fading cry is ever dying;
The living voice is ever living in its inmost joy."
The last two stanzas of this particular poem seem to have a similarity to T.S. Eliot: