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The Chimney Sweeper (literature)
by
William Blake
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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 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.
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