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William Blake, from Songs of Experience

'Nought loves another as itself
Nor venerates another so
Not is it possible to Thought
A greater than itself to know.

'And Father, how can I love you
Or any of my brothers more?
I love you like the little bird
That picks up crumbs around the door.'

The Priest sat by and heard the child;
In trembling zeal he seiz'd his hair;
He led him by his little coat
And all admir'd the Priestly care.

And standing on the altar high,
'Lo, what a fiend is here!' said he
, 'One who sets reason up for judge
Of our most holy Mystery.'

The weeping child could not be heard,
The weeping parents wept in vain;
They strip'd him to his little shirt,
And bound him in an iron chain;<]br>
And burn'd him in a holy place,
Where many had been burn'd before.
The weeping parents wept in vain.
Are such things done on Albion's shore?

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