William Blake

Here you will find the Poem Garden of Love, The of poet William Blake

Garden of Love, The

I laid me down upon a bank,
 Where Love lay sleeping;
 I heard among the rushes dank
 Weeping, weeping.
 Then I went to the heath and the wild,
 To the thistles and thorns of the waste;
 And they told me how they were beguiled,
 Driven out, and compelled to the chaste.
 I went to the Garden of Love,
 And saw what I never had 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 turned to the Garden of Love
 That so many sweet flowers bore.
 And I saw it was filled with graves,
 And tombstones where flowers should be;
 And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
 And binding with briars my joys and desires.