William Blake

(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827 / London)


Poem by William Blake

My silks and fine array,
My smiles and languish'd air,
By love are driv'n away;
And mournful lean Despair
Brings me yew to deck my grave;
Such end true lovers have.

His face is fair as heav'n
When springing buds unfold;
O why to him was't giv'n
Whose heart is wintry cold?
His breast is love's all-worshipp'd tomb,
Where all love's pilgrims come.

Bring me an axe and spade,
Bring me a winding sheet;
When I my grave have made
Let winds and tempests beat:
Then down I'll lie as cold as clay.
True love doth pass away!

Comments about Song by William Blake

  • Paresh ChakraParesh Chakra (11/27/2018 4:30:00 AM)

    Song is a very beautiful poem(Report)Reply

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Read poems about / on: despair, love, song, heart, spring, wind, smile

Poem Submitted: Wednesday, May 9, 2001

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