Song

How sweet I roam'd from field to field,
...And tasted all the summer's pride,
'Till I the prince of love beheld,
...Who in the sunny beams did glide!

He shew'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 stretches out my golden wing,
...And mocks my loss of liberty.

William Blake