William Blake (1757–1827)

          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 fillèd 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.