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OH, WILLIAM BLAKE!
THE memory is bright with eyes;
That day you read me from a book—
I hear now how your accents shook
With words in meaning like to these:
Love seeketh not itself to please
But for another gives its ease;
Her quiet is his paradise.
Sweet, it was never my delight
To build a hell in heaven's despite,
I can but think your breast is white.
Look at me! Let me see your eyes
Smile for our new-found paradise.
We live, we love—is it not well?
For life I do not grudge the price:
I who took heaven can suffer hell!