The Garden Of Love - By William Blake

I laid me down upon a bank,
     Where Love lay sleeping;
   I heard among the rushes dank
     Weeping, weeping.

   Then I went to the heath and the wild,
     To the thistles and thorns of the waste;
   And they told me how they were beguiled,
     Driven out, and compelled to the chaste.

   I went to the Garden of Love,
     And saw what I never had seen;
   A Chapel was built in the midst,
     Where I used to play on the green.

   And the gates of this Chapel were shut
     And "Thou shalt not," writ over the door;
   So I turned to the Garden of Love
     That so many sweet flowers bore.

   And I saw it was filled with graves,
     And tombstones where flowers should be;
   And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
     And binding with briars my joys and desires.