the garden of love…

…from the quills of dead white poets

William Blake (1757-1827)

The Garden of Love

I went to the Garden of Love,

And saw what I never had seen:

A chapel was built in the midst,

where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this chapel were shut,

And ‘Thou shalt not’ writ over the door;

So I turned to the Garden of Love,

That so many sweet flowers bore;

And I saw it was filled with graves,

And tombstones where flowers should be;

And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,

And binding with briars my joys and desires.

 

About Avadoro Worden

Iconoclast
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