Is this a holy thing to see.
In a rich and fruitful land.
Babes reduced to misery.
Fed with cold and usurous hand?
Is that trembling cry a song?
Can it be a song of joy?
And so many children poor?
It is a land of poverty!
And their sun does never shine.
And their fields are bleak & bare.
And their ways are fill'd with thorns
It is eternal winter there.
For where-e'er the sun does shine.
And where-e'er the rain does fall:
Babe can never hunger there,
Nor poverty the mind appall.
Holy Thursday (experience)
William Blake
(1)
Poem topics: children, joy, poor, rain, winter, eternal, mind, cold, hunger, holy, never, poverty, song, sun, shine, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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