I love to rise in a summer morn, <br />When the birds sing on every tree; <br />The distant huntsman winds his horn, <br />And the sky-lark sings with me. <br />O! what sweet company. <br /> <br />But to go to school in a summer morn, <br />O! it drives all joy away; <br />Under a cruel eye outworn. <br />The little ones spend the day, <br />In sighing and dismay. <br /> <br />Ah! then at times I drooping sit, <br />And spend many an anxious hour, <br />Nor in my book can I take delight, <br />Nor sit in learnings bower, <br />Worn thro' with the dreary shower. <br /> <br />How can the bird that is born for joy, <br />Sit in a cage and sing. <br />How can a child when fears annoy. <br />But droop his tender wing. <br />And forget his youthful spring. <br /> <br />O! father & mother. if buds are nip'd, <br />And blossoms blown away, <br />And if the tender plants are strip'd <br />Of their joy in the springing day, <br />By sorrow and care's dismay. <br /> <br />How shall the summer arise in joy. <br />Or the summer fruits appear. <br />Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy <br />Or bless the mellowing year. <br />When the blasts of winter appear.<br /><br />William Blake<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-school-boy/
