The Chimney Sweeper

by William Blake

　　A little black thing among the snow:

　　Crying weep, weep, in notes of woe!

　　Where are thy father & mother? say?

　　They are both gone up to the church to pray.

　　Because I was happy upon the heath,

　　And smil'd among the winters snow:

　　They clothed me in the clothes of death,

　　And taught me to sing the notes of woe.

　　And because I am happy & dance & sing,

　　They think they have done me no injury:

　　And are gone to praise God & his Priest & King,

　　Who make up a heaven of our misery.