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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
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A Little Girl Lost
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
William Blake
1757 - 1827/Male/English