William Blake, from Songs of Experience

'Nought loves another as itself
Nor venerates another so
Not is it possible to Thought
A greater than itself to know.

'And Father, how can I love you
Or any of my brothers more?
I love you like the little bird
That picks up crumbs around the door.'

The Priest sat by and heard the child;
In trembling zeal he seiz'd his hair;
He led him by his little coat
And all admir'd the Priestly care.

And standing on the altar high,
'Lo, what a fiend is here!' said he
, 'One who sets reason up for judge
Of our most holy Mystery.'

The weeping child could not be heard,
The weeping parents wept in vain;
They strip'd him to his little shirt,
And bound him in an iron chain;<]br>
And burn'd him in a holy place,
Where many had been burn'd before.
The weeping parents wept in vain.
Are such things done on Albion's shore?

Log in or registerto write something here or to contact authors.