"With sweet May ..." Quote of William Blake

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

With sweet May dews my wings were wet, And Phoebus fir'd my vocal rage; He caught me in his silken net, And shut me in his golden cage. He loves to sit and hear me sing, Then, laughing, sports and plays with me; Then stretches out my golden wing, And mocks my loss of liberty.

William Blake
William Blake (1757-1827), British poet, painter, mystic. How sweet I roam'd from field to field (l. 9-16). . . The Complete Poems [William Blake]. Alicia Ostriker, ed. (1977) Penguin Books.