An Epitaph (Come knock your heads against this stone)
An Epitaph
Come knock your heads against this stone
For sorrow that poor John Thompsons gone
Source: Wikisource
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More poems by William Blake
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The Tiger
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye … -
The Tyger
Tyger Tyger. burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye. … -
The Little Black Boy
My mother bore me in the southern wild,
And I am black, but O, my soul is white!
White as an angel is the English child, … -
The Garden of Love
I laid me down upon a bank,
Where Love lay sleeping;
I heard among the rushes dank …