by William Blake (1757 - 1827)

Language: English 
Leave, O leave me to my sorrow;
Here I'll sit and fade away,
Till I'm nothing but a spirit,
And I lose this form of clay.

Then if chance along this forest
Any walk in pathless ways,
Through the gloom he'll see my shadow
Hear my voice upon the breeze.

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Research team for this page: Emily Ezust [Administrator] , Justin Miller [Guest Editor]

This text was added to the website: 2009-01-29
Line count: 8
Word count: 52