William Blake (1757-1827)

Whate'er is Born of Mortal Birth
Must be consumed with the Earth,
To rise from Generation free:
Then what have I to do with thee?

The Sexes sprung from Shame and Pride,
Blowed in the morn, in evening died;
But Mercy changed Death into Sleep;
The Sexes rose to work and weep.

Thou, Mother of my Mortal part,
With cruelty didst mould my Heart,
And with false self-deceiving tears
Didst bind my Nostrils, Eyes, and Ears.

Didst close my Tongue in senseless clay,
And me to Mortal Life betray.
The death of Jesus set me free;
Then what have I to do with thee?

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