Poetry Fetter'd. Fetters the Human Race. Nations are Destroy'd, or Flourish, in proportion as Their Poetry, Painting, and Music are Destroy'd or Flou… - William Blake

برای دیدن جهان در یک شن ریزه

و تماشای آسمان در گلی وحشی

بی نهایت را در دستانت گیر

و ابدیت را ساعتی بیش مدان

Little Fly,
Thy summer's play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away. Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me? For I dance,
And drink, and sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.

Pity would be no more
If we did not make somebody Poor;
And Mercy no more could be
If all were as happy as we.

And mutual fear brings peace,
Till the selfish loves increase:
Then Cruelty knits a snare
And spreads his baits with care.

He sits down with holy fears
And waters the ground with tears:
Then Humility takes its root
Underneath his foot.

Soon spreads the dismal shade
Of Mystery over his head,
And the Catterpiller and Fly
Feed on the Mystery.

And it bears the fruit of Deceit,
Ruddy and sweet to eat,
And the Raven his nest has made
In its thickest shade.

The Gods of the earth and sea
Sought thro' Nature to find this Tree,
But their search was all in vain:
There grows one in the Human Brain.