Page:The Poems of William Blake (Shepherd, 1887).djvu/37

 Joys upon our branches sit, Chirping loud, and singing sweet; Like gentle streams beneath our feet Innocence and virtue meet. Thou the golden fruit dost bear, I am clad in flowers fair; Thy sweet boughs perfume the air, And the turtle buildeth there. There she sits and feeds her young, Sweet I hear her mournful song; And thy lovely leaves among There is Love; I hear his tongue. There his charming nest doth lay, There he sleeps the night away; There he sports along the day And doth among our branches play.

SONG. LOVE the jocund dance, The softly-breathing song, Where innocent eyes do glance
 * And where lisps the maiden's tongue.