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C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Song: ‘My silks and fine array’

By William Blake (1757–1827)

MY silks and fine array,

My smiles and languished air,

By love are driven away,

And mournful lean Despair

Brings me yew to deck my grave:

Such end true lovers have.

His face is fair as heaven

When springing buds unfold;

Oh, why to him was ’t given,

Whose heart is wintry cold?

His breast is Love’s all-worshiped tomb,

Where all Love’s pilgrims come.

Bring me an axe and spade,

Bring me a winding-sheet;

When I my grave have made,

Let winds and tempests beat:

Then down I’ll lie, as cold as clay:

True love doth never pass away.