Page:Life of William Blake 2, Gilchrist.djvu/145



Dost thou not in pride and scorn Fill with tempests all my morn, And with jealousies and fears?— And fill my pleasant nights with tears?

O'er my sins thou dost sit and moan: Hast thou no sins of thine own? O'er my sins thou dost sit and weep And lull thine own sins fast asleep.

Thy weeping thou shalt ne'er give o'er; I sin against thee more and more, And never will from sin be free Till thou forgive and come to me.

What transgressions I commit Are for thy transgressions fit,— They thy harlots, thou their slave; And my bed becomes their grave.

Seven of my sweet loves thy knife Hath bereaved of their life: Their marble tombs I built, with tears And with cold and shadowy fears.

Seven more loves weep night and day Round the tombs where my loves lay, And seven more loves attend at night Around my couch with torches bright.

And seven more loves in my bed Crown with vine my mournful head; Pitying and forgiving all Thy transgressions, great and small.