Truly My Satan thou art but a Dunce
And dost not know the Garment from the Man
Every Harlot was a Virgin once
Nor canst thou ever change Kate into Nan
Tho thou art Worship'd by the Names Divine
Of Jesus & Jehovah thou art still
The Son of Morn in weary Nights decline
The lost Travellers Dream under the Hill
To The Accuser Who Is The God Of This World
William Blake
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Poem topics: change, dream, lost, son, divine, jesus, worship, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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