To Tirzah - By William Blake

Whate'er is born of mortal birth
   Must be consumed with the earth,
   To rise from generation free:
   Then what have I to do with thee?
   The sexes sprang from shame and pride,
   Blown in the morn, in evening died;
   But mercy changed death into sleep;
   The sexes rose to work and weep.

   Thou, mother of my mortal part,
   With cruelty didst mould my heart,
   And with false self-deceiving tears
   Didst bind my nostrils, eyes, and ears,

   Didst close my tongue in senseless clay,
   And me to mortal life betray.
   The death of Jesus set me free:
   Then what have I to do with thee?