TESTO DEL LIED

"Holy Thursday"
di William Blake (1757-1827)

Is this a holy thing to see
In a rich and fruitful land,
Babes reduc'd to misery,
Fed with cold and usurous hand?

Is that trembling cry a song?
Can it be song of joy?
And so many children poor?
It is a land of poverty!

And their sun does never shine,
And their fields are bleak & bare,
And their ways are fill'd with thorns:
It is eternal winter there.

For where-e'er the sun does shine,
And were-e'er the rain does fall,
Babe can never hunger there,
Nor poverty the mind appall.