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Quotation by William Blake
With sweet May dews my wings were wet,
And Phoebus fir'd my vocal rage;
He caught me in his silken net,
And shut me in his golden cage.
He loves to sit and hear me sing,
Then, laughing, sports and plays with me;
Then stretches out my golden wing,
And mocks my loss of liberty.
William Blake (1757–1827), British poet, painter, mystic. How sweet I roam'd from field to field (l. 9–16). . .
The Complete Poems [William Blake]. Alicia Ostriker, ed. (1977) Penguin Books.
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