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How sweet I roam'd from field to field
And tasted all the summers pride,
Till I the Prince of Love beheld
Who in the sunny beams did glide!
He show'd me lilies for my hair,
And blushing roses for my brow;
He led me through his gardens fair
Where all his golden pleasures grow.
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 streches out my golden wing,
And mocks my loss of liberty.
WILLIAM BLAKE
(1757-1827)
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