To Tirzah

by William Blake

　　Whate'er is Born of Mortal birth

　　Must be consumèd with the Earth,

　　To rise from Generation free:

　　Then what have I to do with thee?

　　The Sexes sprung from Shame and Pride,

　　Blow'd in the morn; in evening died;

　　But Mercy changed Death into Sleep;

　　The Sexes rose to work & weep.

　　Thou, Mother of my Mortal part,

　　With cruelty didst mould my Heart,

　　And with false self-deceiving tears

　　Didst bind my Nostrils, Eyes, & Ears,

　　Didst close my Tongue in senseless clay,

　　And me to Mortal Life betray.

　　The Death of Jesus set me free:

　　Then what have I to do with thee?