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The Chimney-Sweeper (Experience)

William Blake

A little black thing among the snow:
Crying weep, weep, in notes of woe!
Where are thy father & mother? say?
They are both gone up to the church to pray.

Because I was happy upon the heath.
And smil'd among the winters snow:
They clothed me in the clothes of death.
And taught me to sing the notes of woe.

And because I am happy. & dance & sing.
They think they have done me no injury:
And are gone to praise God & his Priest & King,
Who made up a heaven of our misery.

Added: 14 Oct 2001 | Last Read: 19 Jan 2018 10:27 PM | Viewed: 19685 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/1834/ | Viewed on 19 January 2018.
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