The spirits of the air live on the smells Of fruit; and joy, with pinions light, roves round The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.
William BlakeLove to faults is always blind, always is to joy inclined. Lawless, winged, and unconfined, and breaks all chains from every mind.
William Blake'Come hither, my boy, tell me what thou seest there?' 'A fool tangled in a religious snare.'
William Blake