Liberty.

Doisneau, The Clock, 1957

How sweet I roam'd from field to field, 

         And tasted all the summer's pride, 

'Till I the prince of love beheld, 

         Who in the sunny beams did glide! 

He shew'd me lilies for my hair, 

         And blushing roses for my brow; 

He led me through his gardens fair, 

         Where all his golden pleasures grow. 

With sweet May dews my wings were wet, 

         And Phoebus fir'd my vocal rage; 

He caught me in his silken net, 

         And shut me in his golden cage. 

He loves to sit and hear me sing, 

         Then, laughing, sports and plays with me; 

Then stretches out my golden wing, 

         And mocks my loss of liberty.

William Blake