Song
My silks and fine array, My smiles and languish'd air, By love are driv'n away; And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave; Such end true lovers have. His face is fair as heav'n When springing buds unfold; O why to him was't giv'n Whose heart is wintry cold? His breast is love's all-worshipp'd tomb, Where all love's pilgrims come. Bring me an axe and spade, Bring me a winding sheet; When I my grave have made Let winds and tempests beat: Then down I'll lie as cold as clay. True love doth pass away!
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"My silks and fine array,..."
Exploring the themes of classic, William Blake delivers a powerful performance in "Song"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...