The garden of love

I brist på ord får det bli min favorit dikt av min favorit poet, enda dikten jag kan utantill. Jag har garanterat publicerat den här tidigare men det skiter jag i. Poetens namn är William Blake och dikten heter

The garden of love

I 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 tombstones were flowers should be
And priest in black gowns were walking there rounds,
And binding with briars my joys and desires