In a mirtle shade

by William Blake

For works with similar titles, see Infant Sorrow.

Notebook 18 - In a myrtle shade

    in a mirtle shade

    [To a lovely mirtle bound
    Blossoms show'ring all around del.]
2  O, how sick & weary I
    Underneath my mirtle lie,
    Like to dung upon the ground
    Underneath my mirtle bound.

1  Why should I be bound to thee
    O my lovely mirtle tree?
    Love, free love, cannot be bound
    To any tree that grows on ground.

3  Oft my mirtle sigh'd in vain
    To behold my heavy chain
    Oft [the priest beheld del.] my father saw us sigh,
    And laugh'd at our simplicity.

    So I smote him & his gore
    Stain'd the roots my mirtle bore.
    But the time of youth is fled,
    And grey hairs are on my head.