A Little Girl Lost
William Blake
Children of the future Age,
Reading this indignant page;
Know that in a former time.
Love! sweet Love! was thought a crime.
In the Age of Gold,
Free from winters cold:
Youth and maiden bright.
To the holy light,
Naked in the sunny beams delight.
Once a youthful pair
Fill’d with softest care;
Met in garden bright.
Where the holy light,
Had just removed the curtains of the night.
There in rising day.
On the grass they play:
Parents were afar;
Strangers came not near:
And the maiden soon forgot her fear.
Tired with kisses sweet
They agree to meet
When the silent sleep
Waves o’er heavens deep:
And the weary tired wanderers weep.
To her father white
Came the maiden bright:
But his loving look,
Like the holy book,
All her tender limbs with terror shook
Ona! pale and weak!
To thy father speak:
O the trembling fear!
O the dismal care!
That shakes the blossoms of my hoary hair
