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In , Blake takes on the persona of a young chimney sweeper to tell a tale that is quite straightforward, yet ironic and sad at the same time. The voice of the poem is that of a young boy, characterized by the lines, "And my father sold me whi ....

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... I sweep & in soot I sleep."(4) The end-result, however, of this line is quite the opposite: the reader is quickly initiated into the dreadful life of being a chimney sweep and all that it entails. The tale goes on, describing "little Tom Dacre"(5) who cried when his blonde head of curls was shaved. The worldly wise narrator is very practical in his manner of comforting little Tom, "Hush Tom never mind it, for when your head's bare/ You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair."(7-8) Tom is quieted, yet that same night he is visited by a dream wherein thousands of other chimney sweeps like him are all locked up in black coffins ...