Poems – A Little Boy Lost – William Blake

Nought loves another as itself, 

Nor venerates another so, 

Nor 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 seized his hair, 

He led him by his little coat, 

And all admired 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 stripped him to his little shirt, 

And bound him in an iron chain, 
And burned him in a holy place 

Where many had been burned before; 

The weeping parents wept in vain. 

Are such thing done on Albion’s shore?

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