Nought loves another as itself, <br /> Nor venerates another so, <br /> Nor is it possible to thought <br /> A greater than itself to know. <br /> <br /> 'And, father, how can I love you <br /> Or any of my brothers more? <br /> I love you like the little bird <br /> That picks up crumbs around the door.' <br /> <br /> The Priest sat by and heard the child; <br /> In trembling zeal he seized his hair, <br /> He led him by his little coat, <br /> And all admired the priestly care. <br /> <br /> And standing on the altar high, <br /> 'Lo, what a fiend is here! said he: <br /> 'One who sets reason up for judge <br /> Of our most holy mystery.' <br /> <br /> The weeping child could not be heard, <br /> The weeping parents wept in vain: <br /> They stripped him to his little shirt, <br /> And bound him in an iron chain, <br /> <br /> And burned him in a holy place <br /> Where many had been burned before; <br /> The weeping parents wept in vain. <br /> Are such thing done on Albion's shore?<br /><br />William Blake<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-little-boy-lost/
