Blake meandered, like a wayward stream
Over the valleys and the hills
When suddenly: struck by a dream!
An inferno of dark, satanic mills
Spread across the land and overseas:
On tyranny’s wind, the mills replace the trees

Abominable as a cage for a child
Putting bars behind their eyes
The factories enclose the wilds
A bleak blockade against the sky
Thousands he saw in a momentary flash
Festering on the Earth like a virulent rash

The dirt clouds above the factories loomed
Only beat by the awful stench
A poet wants the world to bloom;
The mills just make Earth blench
He stared – and stared – in horror enwrapt
The world was a treasure unbound - now she's trapped

For oft, when poets dream they think
Of nirvana or some such felicity
It replenishes them like a fountain drink
Which brings the bliss of serendipity
And then their feet in wayward trances
Fill with the rhythm of their romances