“Prisons are built with stones of Law, Brothels with bricks of Religion”

“The Garden of LoveI went to the Garden of Love, And saw what I never had seen: A Chapel was built in the midst, Where I used to play on the green. And the gates of this Chapel were shut, And 'Thou shalt not' writ over the door; So I turn'd to the Garden of Love, That so many sweet flowers bore. And I saw it was filled with graves, And tomb-stones where flowers should be: And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds, And binding with briars, my joys & desires.”

“What is the price of Experience? Do men buy it for a song? Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the priceOf all that a man hath, his house, his wife, his childrenWisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buyAnd in the wither'd field where the farmer ploughs for bread in vain It is an easy thing to triumph in the summer's sunAnd in the vintage and to sing on the waggon loaded with cornIt is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflictedTo speak the laws of prudence to the homeless wandererTo listen to the hungry raven's cry in wintry seasonWhen the red blood is fill'd with wine and with the marrow of lambs It is an easy thing to laugh at wrathful elementsTo hear the dog howl at the wintry door, the ox in the slaughterhouse moan;To see a god on every wind and a blessing on every blastTo hear sounds of love in the thunderstorm that destroys our enemies' house;To rejoice in the blight that covers his field and the sickness that cuts off his children While our olive and vine sing and laugh round our door and our children bring fruits and flowers Then the groan and the dolour are quite forgotten and the slave grinding at the millAnd the captive in chains and the poor in the prison and the soldier in the field When the shatter'd bone hath laid him groaning among the happier deadIt is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of prosperity:Thus could I sing and thus rejoice: but it is not so with me.”

“The Devil answer'd: bray a fool in a morter with wheat, yet shall not his folly be beaten out of him; if Jesus Christ is the greatest man, you ought to love him in the greatest degree; now hear how he has given his sanction to the law of ten commandments: did he not mock at the sabbath, and so mock the sabbaths God? murder those who were murder'd because of him? turn away the law from the woman taken in adultery? steal the labor of others to support him? bear false witness when he omitted making a defense before Pilate? covet when he pray'd for his disciples, and when he bid them shake off the dust of their feet against such as refused to lodge them? I tell you, no virtue can exist without breaking these ten commandments; Jesus was all virtue, and acted from impulse, not from rules.”

“And did those feet in ancient timeWalk upon England's mountains green?And was the holy Lamb of GodOn England's pleasant pastures seen?And did the Countenance DivineShine forth upon our clouded hills?And was Jerusalem builded here,Among these dark Satanic Mills?Bring me my Bow of burning gold:Bring me my Arrows of desire:Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!Bring me my Chariot of fire!I will not cease from Mental Fight,Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand,Till we have built JerusalemIn England's green & pleasant Land.”

“I am made to sow the thistle for wheat; the nettle for a nourishing daintyI have planted a false oath in the earth, it has brought forth a poison treeI have chosen the serpent for a councellor & the dog for a schoolmaster to my childrenI have blotted out from light & living the dove & the nightingaleAnd I have caused the earthworm to beg from door to door I have taught the thief a secret path into the house of the justI have taught pale artifice to spread his nets upon the morningMy heavens are brass my earth is iron my moon a clod of clayMy sun a pestilence burning at noon & a vapor of death in nightWhat is the price of Experience do men buy it for a song Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No it is bought with the priceOf all that a man hath his house his wife his childrenWisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buyAnd in the withered field where the farmer plows for bread in vainIt is an easy thing to triumph in the summers sun And in the vintage & to sing on the waggon loaded with cornIt is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflictedTo speak the laws of prudence to the houseless wandererTo listen to the hungry ravens cry in wintry seasonWhen the red blood is filled with wine & with the marrow of lambs It is an easy thing to laugh at wrathful elementsTo hear a dog howl at the wintry door, the ox in the slaughter house moanTo see a god on every wind & a blessing on every blastTo hear the sounds of love in the thunder storm that destroys our enemies houseTo rejoice in the blight that covers his field, & the sickness that cuts off his childrenWhile our olive & vine sing & laugh round our door & our children bring fruits and flowersThen the groans & the dolor are quite forgotten & the slave grinding at the millAnd the captive in chains & the poor in the prison, & the soldier in the fieldWhen the shattered bone hath laid him groaning among the happier deadIt is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of prosperity Thus could I sing & thus rejoice, but it is not so with me!”

“As a man is, so he sees. As the eye is formed, such are its powers.”