How sweet I roamed 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!
William BlakeSome will say, Is not God alone the Prolific? I answer, God only Acts & Is, in existing beings or Men.
William BlakeThe hand of Vengeance found the Bed To which the Purple Tyrant fled The iron hand crush'd the tyrant's head And became Tyrant in his stead.
William Blake