FROM THE UNCAUSED CAUSE TO CATHOLICISM

Jeffrey Booth booth2 at husc.harvard.edu
Fri Dec 1 10:14:15 MST 1995


	No way I'm gonna let the Priest have the last word on poetry... .


	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 turn'd to the Garden of Love,
	That so many sweet flowers bore.

	And I saw it was filled with graves,
	And tomb-stones where flowers should be:
	And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds,
	And binding with briars, my joys and desires.

			
				Blake, Songs of Experience 	
	


	THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER

	A little black thing among the snow:
	Crying weep, weep, in notes of woe!
	Where are thy father and mother? say?
	They are both gone up to the church to pray.

	Because I was happy upon the heath.
	And smil'd among the winters snow:
	They clothed me in the clothes of death.
	And taught me to sing the notes of woe.

	And because I am happy. and dance and sing.
	They think they have done me no injury:
	And are gone to praise God and his Priest and King
	Who make up a heaven of our misery.


				Blake, Songs of Experience


				-- Jeff Booth


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