And Father, how can I love youOr any of my brothers moreI love you like the little birdThat picks up crumbs around the door.
More Quotes from William Blake:
Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean, The children walking two and two, in red and blue and green.William Blake
How sweet I roamed from field to field, And tasted all the summer's pride, Till I the prince of love beheld, Who in the sunny beams did glide.
William Blake
Art can never exist without naked beauty displayed.
William Blake
Excessive sorrow laughs. Excessive joy weeps.
William Blake
The Man who pretends to be a modest enquirer into the truth of a self evident thing is a Knave.
William Blake
Improvement makes straight roads but the crooked roads without improvement are roads of genius.
William Blake
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