Page:The Poems of William Blake (Shepherd, 1887).djvu/160

Till he becomes a bleeding youth,
And she becomes a virgin bright,
Then he rends up his manacles,
And binds her down for his delight.
 
He plants himself in all her nerves,
Just as a husbandman his mould,
And she becomes his dwelling-place,
And garden fruitful seventy-fold:

An aged shadow, soon he fades,
Wandering round an earthly cot,
Full-filled all with gains and gold,
Which he by industry had got;

And these are the gems of the human soul,
The rubies and pearls of a love-sick eye,
The countless gold of the aching heart,
The martyr's groan, and the lover's sigh.
 
They are his meat, they are his drink;
He feeds the beggar and the poor,
And the wayfaring traveller,
For ever open is his door.
 
His grief is their eternal joy;
They make the roofs and walls to ring—
Till from the fire on the hearth
A little female babe does spring;