Poems – My  Pretty Rose Tree – William Blake

A flower was offered to me, 

Such a flower as May never bore; 

But I said ‘I’ve a pretty rose tree,’ 

And I passed the sweet flower o’er. 
Then I went to my pretty rose tree, 

To tend her by day and by night; 

But my rose turned away with jealousy, 

And her thorns were my only delight.

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?