Poem for October


He who binds to himself a joy
Does the wing`ed life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity’s sun rise.

By William Blake (1757 – 1827)

‘Blake believed that a bigger force than himself worked through him. He held the pen, the graver or the brush. He was its agent, never its master, the possessed rather than the possessor. ‘ Selected by Isla Blair.