Page:The Poems of William Blake (Shepherd, 1887).djvu/136

Love seeketh only self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another's loss of ease,

And builds a hell in heaven's despite.

THE GARDEN OF LOVE.

I WENT to the garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
A Chape! was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this chapel were shut,
And "Thou shalt not" writ over the door;
So I turn'd to the garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore;

And I saw it was filled with graves
And tombstones where flowers should be:
And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys and desires.

THE FLY.

LITTLE fly,

Thy summer's play
My thoughtless hand
Has brush'd away.