I love to rise in a summer morn, When the birds sing on every tree;
I was angry with my friend; I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue,
The Sun does arise, And make happy the skies.
Awake, awake my little Boy! Thou wast thy Mother's only joy:
I wander thro' each charter'd street. Near where the charter'd Thames does flow
Never seek to tell thy love, Love that never told can be;
Little Lamb, who made thee Does thou know who made thee
I went to the Garden of Love. And saw what I never had seen:
A little black thing among the snow: Crying weep, weep, in notes of woe!
I love to rise in a summer morn, When the birds sing on every tree;
I was angry with my friend; I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue,
The Sun does arise, And make happy the skies.
Awake, awake my little Boy! Thou wast thy Mother's only joy:
I wander thro' each charter'd street. Near where the charter'd Thames does flow
Never seek to tell thy love, Love that never told can be;
Little Lamb, who made thee Does thou know who made thee
I went to the Garden of Love. And saw what I never had seen:
A little black thing among the snow: Crying weep, weep, in notes of woe!