The Grey Monk - William Blake

The Grey Monk William Blake     “I die, I die!“ the Mother said,     “My children die for lack of bread.     What more has the merciless Tyrant said?“     The Monk sat down on the stony bed.     The blood red ran from the Grey Monk’s side,     His hands and feet were wounded wide,     His body bent, his arms and knees     Like to the roots of ancient trees.     His eye was dry; no tear could flow:     A hollow groan first spoke his woe.     He trembled and shudder’d upon the bed;     At length with a feeble cry he said:     “When God commanded this hand to write     In the studious hours of deep midnight,     He told me the writing I wrote should prove     The bane of all that on Earth I lov’d.     My Brother starv’d between two walls,     His Children’s cry my soul appalls;     I mock’d at the rack and griding chain,     My bent body mocks their torturing pain.     T