What Is The Price Of Experience? Do Men Buy It For A Song? 

What is the price of Experience? Do men buy it for a song? 

Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the price

Of all that a man hath, his house, his wife, his children

Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buy

And in the wither'd field where the farmer ploughs for bread in vain 

It is an easy thing to triumph in the summer's sun

And in the vintage and to sing on the waggon loaded with corn

It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted

To speak the laws of prudence to the homeless wanderer

To listen to the hungry raven's cry in wintry season

When the red blood is fill'd with wine and with the marrow of lambs 

It is an easy thing to laugh at wrathful elements

To hear the dog howl at the wintry door, the ox in the slaughterhouse moan;

To see a god on every wind and a blessing on every blast

To hear sounds of love in the thunderstorm that destroys our enemies' house;

To rejoice in the blight that covers his field and the sickness that cuts off his children 

While our olive and vine sing and laugh round our door and our children bring fruits and flowers 

Then the groan and the dolour are quite forgotten and the slave grinding at the mill

And the captive in chains and the poor in the prison and the soldier in the field 

When the shatter'd bone hath laid him groaning among the happier dead

It is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of prosperity:

Thus could I sing and thus rejoice: but it is not so with me.

William Blake