Thou fair-hair'd angel of the evening, Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!
William BlakeAs the caterpillar chooses the fairest leaves to lay her eggs on, so the priest lays his curse on the fairest joys.
William BlakeAnd I watered it in fears, Night and morning with my tears; And I sunned it with smiles, And with soft deceitful wiles.
William BlakeSome say that happiness is not good for mortals, & they ought to be answered that sorrow is not fit for immortals & is utterly useless to any one; a blight never does good to a tree, & if a blight kill not a tree but it still bear fruit, let none say that the fruit was in consequence of the blight.
William Blake