William Blake (1757–1827)

I LOVE the jocund dance,

The softly-breathing song,

Where innocent eyes do glance,

And where lisps the maiden’s tongue.

I love the laughing vale,

I love the echoing hill,

Where mirth does never fail,

And the jolly swain laughs his fill.

I love the pleasant cot,

I love the innocent bow’r,

Where white and brown is our lot,

Or fruit in the mid-day hour.

I love the oaken seat,

Beneath the oaken tree,

Where all the old villagers meet,

And laugh our sports to see.

I love our neighbours all,

But, Kitty, I better love thee;

And love them I ever shall;

But thou art all to me.