It's William Blake's 253rd birthday today, which I celebrate every year (here's a previous celebratory blog). Thought I might do this today with a couple of his darker Songs of Experience... and the ghost image. Great stuff!
The SICK ROSE
O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
The GARDEN of LOVE
I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I had never seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.
And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And "Thou shalt not" writ over the door:
So I turn'd to the Garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore:
And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tomb-stones where flowers should be;
And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys & desires.
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