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diff --git a/1934-0.txt b/1934-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4372228 --- /dev/null +++ b/1934-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1857 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Songs of Innocence and of Experience, by William Blake + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Songs of Innocence and of Experience + +Author: William Blake + +Release Date: October, 1999 [eBook #1934] +[Most recently updated: December 24, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: David Price + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF INNOCENCE AND OF EXPERIENCE *** + + [Picture: Image of Blake’s original page of The Tyger] + + + + + + SONGS OF INNOCENCE + AND + OF EXPERIENCE + + + BY WILLIAM BLAKE + + [Picture: The Astolaf Press, Guildford] + + LONDON: R. BRIMLEY JOHNSON. + GUILDFORD: A. C. CURTIS. + + MDCCCCI. + + + + +CONTENTS + + SONGS OF INNOCENCE + +Introduction +The Shepherd +The Echoing Green +The Lamb +The Little Black Boy +The Blossom +The Chimney-Sweeper +The Little Boy Lost +The Little Boy Found +Laughing Song +A Cradle Song +The Divine Image +Holy Thursday +Night +Spring +Nurse’s Song +Infant Joy +A Dream +On Another’s Sorrow + + SONGS OF EXPERIENCE + +Introduction +Earth’s Answer +The Clod and the Pebble +Holy Thursday +The Little Girl Lost +The Little Girl Found +The Chimney-Sweeper +Nurse’s Song +The Sick Rose +The Fly +The Angel +The Tiger +My Pretty Rose-Tree +Ah, Sunflower +The Lily +The Garden of Love +The Little Vagabond +London +The Human Abstract +Infant Sorrow +A Poison Tree +A Little Boy Lost +A Little Girl Lost +A Divine Image +A Cradle Song +To Tirzah +The Schoolboy +The Voice of the Ancient Bard + + + + +SONGS OF INNOCENCE + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +Piping down the valleys wild, + Piping songs of pleasant glee, +On a cloud I saw a child, + And he laughing said to me: + +‘Pipe a song about a Lamb!’ + So I piped with merry cheer. +‘Piper, pipe that song again.’ + So I piped: he wept to hear. + +‘Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe; + Sing thy songs of happy cheer!’ +So I sung the same again, + While he wept with joy to hear. + +‘Piper, sit thee down and write + In a book, that all may read.’ +So he vanished from my sight; + And I plucked a hollow reed, + +And I made a rural pen, + And I stained the water clear, +And I wrote my happy songs + Every child may joy to hear. + + + + +THE SHEPHERD + + +How sweet is the shepherd’s sweet lot! +From the morn to the evening he strays; +He shall follow his sheep all the day, +And his tongue shall be fillèd with praise. + +For he hears the lambs’ innocent call, +And he hears the ewes’ tender reply; +He is watchful while they are in peace, +For they know when their shepherd is nigh. + + + + +THE ECHOING GREEN + + +The sun does arise, +And make happy the skies; +The merry bells ring +To welcome the Spring; +The skylark and thrush, +The birds of the bush, +Sing louder around +To the bells’ cheerful sound; +While our sports shall be seen +On the echoing green. + +Old John, with white hair, +Does laugh away care, +Sitting under the oak, +Among the old folk. +They laugh at our play, +And soon they all say, +‘Such, such were the joys +When we all—girls and boys— +In our youth-time were seen +On the echoing green.’ + +Till the little ones, weary, +No more can be merry: +The sun does descend, +And our sports have an end. +Round the laps of their mothers +Many sisters and brothers, +Like birds in their nest, +Are ready for rest, +And sport no more seen +On the darkening green. + + + + +THE LAMB + + +Little lamb, who made thee? +Does thou know who made thee, +Gave thee life, and bid thee feed +By the stream and o’er the mead; +Gave thee clothing of delight, +Softest clothing, woolly, bright; +Gave thee such a tender voice, +Making all the vales rejoice? + Little lamb, who made thee? + Does thou know who made thee? + +Little lamb, I’ll tell thee; +Little lamb, I’ll tell thee: +He is callèd by thy name, +For He calls Himself a Lamb. +He is meek, and He is mild, +He became a little child. +I a child, and thou a lamb, +We are callèd by His name. + Little lamb, God bless thee! + Little lamb, God bless thee! + + + + + +THE LITTLE BLACK BOY + + +My mother bore me in the southern wild, + And I am black, but O my soul is white! +White as an angel is the English child, + But I am black, as if bereaved of light. + +My mother taught me underneath a tree, + And, sitting down before the heat of day, +She took me on her lap and kissèd me, + And, pointing to the East, began to say: + +‘Look on the rising sun: there God does live, + And gives His light, and gives His heat away, +And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive + Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday. + +‘And we are put on earth a little space, + That we may learn to bear the beams of love; +And these black bodies and this sunburnt face + Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove. + +‘For, when our souls have learned the heat to bear, + The cloud will vanish, we shall hear His voice, +Saying, “Come out from the grove, my love and care, + And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.”’ + +Thus did my mother say, and kissed me, + And thus I say to little English boy. +When I from black, and he from white cloud free, + And round the tent of God like lambs we joy, + +I’ll shade him from the heat till he can bear + To lean in joy upon our Father’s knee; +And then I’ll stand and stroke his silver hair, + And be like him, and he will then love me. + + + + +THE BLOSSOM + + +Merry, merry sparrow! +Under leaves so green + A happy blossom +Sees you, swift as arrow, +Seek your cradle narrow, + Near my bosom. + +Pretty, pretty robin! +Under leaves so green + A happy blossom +Hears you sobbing, sobbing, +Pretty, pretty robin, + Near my bosom. + + + + +THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER + + +When my mother died I was very young, +And my father sold me while yet my tongue +Could scarcely cry ‘Weep! weep! weep! weep!’ +So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep. + +There’s little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head, +That curled like a lamb’s back, was shaved; so I said, +‘Hush, Tom! never mind it, for, when your head’s bare, +You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair.’ + +And so he was quiet, and that very night, +As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight!— +That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack, +Were all of them locked up in coffins of black. + +And by came an angel, who had a bright key, +And he opened the coffins, and set them all free; +Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing, they run +And wash in a river, and shine in the sun. + +Then naked and white, all their bags left behind, +They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind: +And the angel told Tom, if he’d be a good boy, +He’d have God for his father, and never want joy. + +And so Tom awoke, and we rose in the dark, +And got with our bags and our brushes to work. +Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm: +So, if all do their duty, they need not fear harm. + + + + +THE LITTLE BOY LOST + + +‘Father, father, where are you going? + O do not walk so fast! +Speak, father, speak to your little boy, + Or else I shall be lost.’ + +The night was dark, no father was there, + The child was wet with dew; +The mire was deep, and the child did weep, + And away the vapour flew. + + + + +THE LITTLE BOY FOUND + + +The little boy lost in the lonely fen, + Led by the wandering light, +Began to cry, but God, ever nigh, + Appeared like his father, in white. + +He kissed the child, and by the hand led, + And to his mother brought, +Who in sorrow pale, through the lonely dale, + Her little boy weeping sought. + + + + +LAUGHING SONG + + +When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy, +And the dimpling stream runs laughing by; +When the air does laugh with our merry wit, +And the green hill laughs with the noise of it; + +When the meadows laugh with lively green, +And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene; +When Mary and Susan and Emily +With their sweet round mouths sing ‘Ha ha he!’ + +When the painted birds laugh in the shade, +Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread: +Come live, and be merry, and join with me, +To sing the sweet chorus of ‘Ha ha he!’ + + + + +A CRADLE SONG + + +Sweet dreams, form a shade +O’er my lovely infant’s head! +Sweet dreams of pleasant streams +By happy, silent, moony beams! + +Sweet Sleep, with soft down +Weave thy brows an infant crown! +Sweet Sleep, angel mild, +Hover o’er my happy child! + +Sweet smiles, in the night +Hover over my delight! +Sweet smiles, mother’s smiles, +All the livelong night beguiles. + +Sweet moans, dovelike sighs, +Chase not slumber from thy eyes! +Sweet moans, sweeter smiles, +All the dovelike moans beguiles. + +Sleep, sleep, happy child! +All creation slept and smiled. +Sleep, sleep, happy sleep, +While o’er thee thy mother weep. + +Sweet babe, in thy face +Holy image I can trace; +Sweet babe, once like thee +Thy Maker lay, and wept for me: + +Wept for me, for thee, for all, +When He was an infant small. +Thou His image ever see, +Heavenly face that smiles on thee! + +Smiles on thee, on me, on all, +Who became an infant small; +Infant smiles are His own smiles; +Heaven and earth to peace beguiles. + + + + +THE DIVINE IMAGE + + +To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love, + All pray in their distress, +And to these virtues of delight + Return their thankfulness. + +For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love, + Is God our Father dear; +And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love, + Is man, His child and care. + +For Mercy has a human heart; + Pity, a human face; +And Love, the human form divine: + And Peace the human dress. + +Then every man, of every clime, + That prays in his distress, +Prays to the human form divine: + Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace. + +And all must love the human form, + In heathen, Turk, or Jew. +Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell, + There God is dwelling too. + + + + +HOLY THURSDAY + + +’Twas on a holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean, +The children walking two and two, in red, and blue, and green: +Grey-headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow, +Till into the high dome of Paul’s they like Thames waters flow. + +O what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town! +Seated in companies they sit, with radiance all their own. +The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs, +Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands. + +Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song, +Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among: +Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor. +Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door. + + + + +NIGHT + + +The sun descending in the West, +The evening star does shine; +The birds are silent in their nest, +And I must seek for mine. +The moon, like a flower +In heaven’s high bower, +With silent delight, +Sits and smiles on the night. + +Farewell, green fields and happy groves, +Where flocks have took delight, +Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves +The feet of angels bright; +Unseen, they pour blessing, +And joy without ceasing, +On each bud and blossom, +And each sleeping bosom. + +They look in every thoughtless nest +Where birds are covered warm; +They visit caves of every beast, +To keep them all from harm: +If they see any weeping +That should have been sleeping, +They pour sleep on their head, +And sit down by their bed. + +When wolves and tigers howl for prey, +They pitying stand and weep; +Seeking to drive their thirst away, +And keep them from the sheep. +But, if they rush dreadful, +The angels, most heedful, +Receive each mild spirit, +New worlds to inherit. + +And there the lion’s ruddy eyes +Shall flow with tears of gold: +And pitying the tender cries, +And walking round the fold: +Saying: ‘Wrath by His meekness, +And, by His health, sickness, +Is driven away +From our immortal day. + +‘And now beside thee, bleating lamb, +I can lie down and sleep, +Or think on Him who bore thy name, +Graze after thee, and weep. +For, washed in life’s river, +My bright mane for ever +Shall shine like the gold, +As I guard o’er the fold. + + + + +SPRING + + + Sound the flute! + Now it’s mute! + Birds delight, + Day and night, + Nightingale, + In the dale, + Lark in sky,— + Merrily, +Merrily, merrily to welcome in the year. + + Little boy, + Full of joy; + Little girl, + Sweet and small; + Cock does crow, + So do you; + Merry voice, + Infant noise; +Merrily, merrily to welcome in the year. + + Little lamb, + Here I am; + Come and lick + My white neck; + Let me pull + Your soft wool; + Let me kiss + Your soft face; +Merrily, merrily we welcome in the year. + + + + +NURSE’S SONG + + +When voices of children are heard on the green, + And laughing is heard on the hill, +My heart is at rest within my breast, + And everything else is still. + +‘Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down, + And the dews of night arise; +Come, come, leave off play, and let us away, + Till the morning appears in the skies.’ + +‘No, no, let us play, for it is yet day, + And we cannot go to sleep; +Besides, in the sky the little birds fly, + And the hills are all covered with sheep.’ + +‘Well, well, go and play till the light fades away, + And then go home to bed.’ +The little ones leaped, and shouted, and laughed, + And all the hills echoèd. + + + + +INFANT JOY + + +‘I have no name; +I am but two days old.’ +What shall I call thee? +‘I happy am, +Joy is my name.’ +Sweet joy befall thee! + +Pretty joy! +Sweet joy, but two days old. +Sweet joy I call thee: +Thou dost smile, +I sing the while; +Sweet joy befall thee! + + + + +A DREAM + + +Once a dream did weave a shade +O’er my angel-guarded bed, +That an emmet lost its way +Where on grass methought I lay. + +Troubled, wildered, and forlorn, +Dark, benighted, travel-worn, +Over many a tangled spray, +All heart-broke, I heard her say: + +‘O my children! do they cry, +Do they hear their father sigh? +Now they look abroad to see, +Now return and weep for me.’ + +Pitying, I dropped a tear: +But I saw a glow-worm near, +Who replied, ‘What wailing wight +Calls the watchman of the night?’ + +‘I am set to light the ground, +While the beetle goes his round: +Follow now the beetle’s hum; +Little wanderer, hie thee home!’ + + + + +ON ANOTHER’S SORROW + + +Can I see another’s woe, +And not be in sorrow too? +Can I see another’s grief, +And not seek for kind relief? + +Can I see a falling tear, +And not feel my sorrow’s share? +Can a father see his child +Weep, nor be with sorrow filled? + +Can a mother sit and hear +An infant groan, an infant fear? +No, no! never can it be! +Never, never can it be! + +And can He who smiles on all +Hear the wren with sorrows small, +Hear the small bird’s grief and care, +Hear the woes that infants bear— + +And not sit beside the nest, +Pouring pity in their breast, +And not sit the cradle near, +Weeping tear on infant’s tear? + +And not sit both night and day, +Wiping all our tears away? +O no! never can it be! +Never, never can it be! + +He doth give His joy to all: +He becomes an infant small, +He becomes a man of woe, +He doth feel the sorrow too. + +Think not thou canst sigh a sigh, +And thy Maker is not by: +Think not thou canst weep a tear, +And thy Maker is not near. + +O He gives to us His joy, +That our grief He may destroy: +Till our grief is fled and gone +He doth sit by us and moan. + + + + +SONGS OF EXPERIENCE + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + + Hear the voice of the Bard, +Who present, past, and future, sees; + Whose ears have heard + The Holy Word +That walked among the ancient trees; + + Calling the lapséd soul, +And weeping in the evening dew; + That might control + The starry pole, +And fallen, fallen light renew! + + ‘O Earth, O Earth, return! +Arise from out the dewy grass! + Night is worn, + And the morn +Rises from the slumbrous mass. + + ‘Turn away no more; +Why wilt thou turn away? + The starry floor, + The watery shore, +Is given thee till the break of day.’ + + + + +EARTH’S ANSWER + + + Earth raised up her head +From the darkness dread and drear, + Her light fled, + Stony, dread, +And her locks covered with grey despair. + + ‘Prisoned on watery shore, +Starry jealousy does keep my den + Cold and hoar; + Weeping o’er, +I hear the father of the ancient men. + + ‘Selfish father of men! +Cruel, jealous, selfish fear! + Can delight, + Chained in night, +The virgins of youth and morning bear. + + ‘Does spring hide its joy, +When buds and blossoms grow? + Does the sower + Sow by night, +Or the ploughman in darkness plough? + + ‘Break this heavy chain, +That does freeze my bones around! + Selfish, vain, + Eternal bane, +That free love with bondage bound.’ + + + + +THE CLOD AND THE PEBBLE + + +‘Love seeketh not itself to please, + Nor for itself hath any care, +But for another gives its ease, + And builds a heaven in hell’s despair.’ + +So sung a little clod of clay, + Trodden with the cattle’s feet, +But a pebble of the brook + Warbled out these metres meet: + +‘Love seeketh only Self to please, + To bind another to its delight, +Joys in another’s loss of ease, + And builds a hell in heaven’s despite.’ + + + + +HOLY THURSDAY + + +Is this a holy thing to see + In a rich and fruitful land,— +Babes reduced to misery, + Fed with cold and usurous hand? + +Is that trembling cry a song? + Can it be a 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 and bare, +And their ways are filled with thorns, + It is eternal winter there. + +For where’er the sun does shine, + And where’er the rain does fall, +Babe can never hunger there, + Nor poverty the mind appal. + + + + +THE LITTLE GIRL LOST + + +In futurity +I prophesy +That the earth from sleep +(Grave the sentence deep) + +Shall arise, and seek +For her Maker meek; +And the desert wild +Become a garden mild. + +In the southern clime, +Where the summer’s prime +Never fades away, +Lovely Lyca lay. + +Seven summers old +Lovely Lyca told. +She had wandered long, +Hearing wild birds’ song. + +‘Sweet sleep, come to me, +Underneath this tree; +Do father, mother, weep? +Where can Lyca sleep? + +‘Lost in desert wild +Is your little child. +How can Lyca sleep +If her mother weep? + +‘If her heart does ache, +Then let Lyca wake; +If my mother sleep, +Lyca shall not weep. + +‘Frowning, frowning night, +O’er this desert bright +Let thy moon arise, +While I close my eyes.’ + +Sleeping Lyca lay, +While the beasts of prey, +Come from caverns deep, +Viewed the maid asleep. + +The kingly lion stood, +And the virgin viewed: +Then he gambolled round +O’er the hallowed ground. + +Leopards, tigers, play +Round her as she lay; +While the lion old +Bowed his mane of gold, + +And her bosom lick, +And upon her neck, +From his eyes of flame, +Ruby tears there came; + +While the lioness +Loosed her slender dress, +And naked they conveyed +To caves the sleeping maid. + + + + +THE LITTLE GIRL FOUND + + +All the night in woe +Lyca’s parents go +Over valleys deep, +While the deserts weep. + +Tired and woe-begone, +Hoarse with making moan, +Arm in arm, seven days +They traced the desert ways. + +Seven nights they sleep +Among shadows deep, +And dream they see their child +Starved in desert wild. + +Pale through pathless ways +The fancied image strays, +Famished, weeping, weak, +With hollow piteous shriek. + +Rising from unrest, +The trembling woman pressed +With feet of weary woe; +She could no further go. + +In his arms he bore +Her, armed with sorrow sore; +Till before their way +A couching lion lay. + +Turning back was vain: +Soon his heavy mane +Bore them to the ground, +Then he stalked around, + +Smelling to his prey; +But their fears allay +When he licks their hands, +And silent by them stands. + +They look upon his eyes, +Filled with deep surprise; +And wondering behold +A spirit armed in gold. + +On his head a crown, +On his shoulders down +Flowed his golden hair. +Gone was all their care. + +‘Follow me,’ he said; +‘Weep not for the maid; +In my palace deep, +Lyca lies asleep.’ + +Then they followèd +Where the vision led, +And saw their sleeping child +Among tigers wild. + +To this day they dwell +In a lonely dell, +Nor fear the wolvish howl +Nor the lion’s growl. + + + + +THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER + + +A little black thing among the snow, + Crying! ‘weep! weep!’ in notes of woe! +‘Where are thy father and mother? Say!’— + ‘They are both gone up to the church to pray. + +‘Because I was happy upon the heath, + And smiled among the winter’s snow, +They clothed me in the clothes of death, + And taught me to sing the notes of woe. + +‘And because I am happy and dance and sing, + They think they have done me no injury, +And are gone to praise God and His priest and king, + Who made up a heaven of our misery.’ + + + + +NURSE’S SONG + + +When the voices of children are heard on the green, + And whisperings are in the dale, +The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind, + My face turns green and pale. + +Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down, + And the dews of night arise; +Your spring and your day are wasted in play, + And your winter and night in disguise. + + + + +THE SICK ROSE + + +O rose, thou art sick! + The invisible worm, +That flies in the night, + In the howling storm, + +Has found out thy bed + Of crimson joy, +And his dark secret love + Does thy life destroy. + + + + +THE FLY + + +Little Fly, + Thy summer’s play +My thoughtless hand + Has brushed away. + +Am not I + A fly like thee? +Or art not thou + A man like me? + +For I dance, + And drink, and sing, +Till some blind hand + Shall brush my wing. + +If thought is life + And strength and breath, +And the want + Of thought is death; + +Then am I + A happy fly. +If I live, + Or if I die. + + + + +THE ANGEL + + +I dreamt a dream! What can it mean? +And that I was a maiden Queen +Guarded by an Angel mild: +Witless woe was ne’er beguiled! + +And I wept both night and day, +And he wiped my tears away; +And I wept both day and night, +And hid from him my heart’s delight. + +So he took his wings, and fled; +Then the morn blushed rosy red. +I dried my tears, and armed my fears +With ten thousand shields and spears. + +Soon my Angel came again; +I was armed, he came in vain; +For the time of youth was fled, +And grey hairs were on my head. + + + + +THE TIGER + + +Tiger, tiger, burning bright +In the forests of the night, +What immortal hand or eye +Could frame thy fearful symmetry? + +In what distant deeps or skies +Burnt the fire of thine eyes? +On what wings dare he aspire? +What the hand dare seize the fire? + +And what shoulder and what art +Could twist the sinews of thy heart? +And, when thy heart began to beat, +What dread hand and what dread feet? + +What the hammer? what the chain? +In what furnace was thy brain? +What the anvil? what dread grasp +Dare its deadly terrors clasp? + +When the stars threw down their spears, +And watered heaven with their tears, +Did He smile His work to see? +Did He who made the lamb make thee? + +Tiger, tiger, burning bright +In the forests of the night, +What immortal hand or eye +Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? + + + + +MY PRETTY ROSE TREE + + +A flower was offered to me, + Such a flower as May never bore; +But I said, ‘I’ve a pretty rose tree,’ + And I passed the sweet flower o’er. + +Then I went to my pretty rose tree, + To tend her by day and by night; +But my rose turned away with jealousy, + And her thorns were my only delight. + + + + +AH, SUNFLOWER + + +Ah, sunflower, weary of time, + Who countest the steps of the sun; +Seeking after that sweet golden clime + Where the traveller’s journey is done; + +Where the Youth pined away with desire, + And the pale virgin shrouded in snow, +Arise from their graves, and aspire + Where my Sunflower wishes to go! + + + + +THE LILY + + +The modest Rose puts forth a thorn, +The humble sheep a threat’ning horn: +While the Lily white shall in love delight, +Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright. + + + + +THE GARDEN OF LOVE + + +I went to the Garden of Love, + And saw what I never had seen; +A Chapel was built in the midst, + Where I used to play on the green. + +And the gates of this Chapel were shut, + And ‘Thou shalt not’ writ over the door; +So I turned to the Garden of Love + That so many sweet flowers bore. + +And I saw it was filled with graves, + And tombstones where flowers should be; +And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds, + And binding with briars my joys and desires. + + + + +THE LITTLE VAGABOND + + +Dear mother, dear mother, the Church is cold; +But the Alehouse is healthy, and pleasant, and warm. +Besides, I can tell where I am used well; +Such usage in heaven will never do well. + +But, if at the Church they would give us some ale, +And a pleasant fire our souls to regale, +We’d sing and we’d pray all the livelong day, +Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray. + +Then the Parson might preach, and drink, and sing, +And we’d be as happy as birds in the spring; +And modest Dame Lurch, who is always at church, +Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch. + +And God, like a father, rejoicing to see +His children as pleasant and happy as He, +Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the barrel, +But kiss him, and give him both drink and apparel. + + + + +LONDON + + +I wander through each chartered street, + Near where the chartered Thames does flow, +A mark in every face I meet, + Marks of weakness, marks of woe. + +In every cry of every man, + In every infant’s cry of fear, +In every voice, in every ban, + The mind-forged manacles I hear: + +How the chimney-sweeper’s cry + Every blackening church appals, +And the hapless soldier’s sigh + Runs in blood down palace-walls. + +But most, through midnight streets I hear + How the youthful harlot’s curse +Blasts the new-born infant’s tear, + And blights with plagues the marriage hearse. + + + + +THE HUMAN ABSTRACT + + +Pity would be no more +If we did not make somebody poor, +And Mercy no more could be +If all were as happy as we. + +And mutual fear brings Peace, +Till the selfish loves increase; +Then Cruelty knits a snare, +And spreads his baits with care. + +He sits down with holy fears, +And waters the ground with tears; +Then Humility takes its root +Underneath his foot. + +Soon spreads the dismal shade +Of Mystery over his head, +And the caterpillar and fly +Feed on the Mystery. + +And it bears the fruit of Deceit, +Ruddy and sweet to eat, +And the raven his nest has made +In its thickest shade. + +The gods of the earth and sea +Sought through nature to find this tree, +But their search was all in vain: +There grows one in the human Brain. + + + + +INFANT SORROW + + +My mother groaned, my father wept: +Into the dangerous world I leapt, +Helpless, naked, piping loud, +Like a fiend hid in a cloud. + +Struggling in my father’s hands, +Striving against my swaddling bands, +Bound and weary, I thought best +To sulk upon my mother’s breast. + + + + +A POISON TREE + + +I was angry with my friend: +I told my wrath, my wrath did end. +I was angry with my foe: +I told it not, my wrath did grow. + +And I watered it in fears +Night and morning with my tears, +And I sunnèd it with smiles +And with soft deceitful wiles. + +And it grew both day and night, +Till it bore an apple bright, +And my foe beheld it shine, +And he knew that it was mine,— + +And into my garden stole +When the night had veiled the pole; +In the morning, glad, I see +My foe outstretched beneath the tree. + + + + +A LITTLE BOY LOST + + +‘Nought loves another as itself, + Nor venerates another so, +Nor is it possible to thought + A greater than itself to know. + +‘And, father, how can I love you + Or any of my brothers more? +I love you like the little bird + That picks up crumbs around the door.’ + +The Priest sat by and heard the child; + In trembling zeal he seized his hair, +He led him by his little coat, + And all admired his priestly care. + +And standing on the altar high, + ‘Lo, what a fiend is here!’ said he: +‘One who sets reason up for judge + Of our most holy mystery.’ + +The weeping child could not be heard, + The weeping parents wept in vain: +They stripped him to his little shirt, + And bound him in an iron chain, + +And burned him in a holy place + Where many had been burned before; +The weeping parents wept in vain. + Are such things done on Albion’s shore? + + + + +A LITTLE GIRL LOST + + +Children of the future age, +Reading this indignant page, +Know that in a former time +Love, sweet love, was thought a crime. + +In the age of gold, +Free from winter’s cold, +Youth and maiden bright, +To the holy light, +Naked in the sunny beams delight. + +Once a youthful pair, +Filled with softest care, +Met in garden bright +Where the holy light +Had just removed the curtains of the night. + +There, in rising day, +On the grass they play; +Parents were afar, +Strangers came not near, +And the maiden soon forgot her fear. + +Tired with kisses sweet, +They agree to meet +When the silent sleep +Waves o’er heaven’s deep, +And the weary tired wanderers weep. + +To her father white +Came the maiden bright; +But his loving look, +Like the holy book, +All her tender limbs with terror shook. + +Ona, pale and weak, +To thy father speak! +O the trembling fear! +O the dismal care +That shakes the blossoms of my hoary hair!’ + + + + +A DIVINE IMAGE + + +Cruelty has a human heart, + And Jealousy a human face; +Terror the human form divine, + And Secrecy the human dress. + +The human dress is forgèd iron, + The human form a fiery forge, +The human face a furnace sealed, + The human heart its hungry gorge. + + + + +A CRADLE SONG + + +Sleep, sleep, beauty bright, +Dreaming in the joys of night; +Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep +Little sorrows sit and weep. + +Sweet babe, in thy face +Soft desires I can trace, +Secret joys and secret smiles, +Little pretty infant wiles. + +As thy softest limbs I feel, +Smiles as of the morning steal +O’er thy cheek, and o’er thy breast +Where thy little heart doth rest. + +O the cunning wiles that creep +In thy little heart asleep! +When thy little heart doth wake, +Then the dreadful light shall break. + + + + +TO TIRZAH + + +Whate’er is born of mortal birth +Must be consumèd with the earth, +To rise from generation free: +Then what have I to do with thee? + +The sexes sprung from shame and pride, +Blowed in the morn, in evening died; +But mercy changed death into sleep; +The sexes rose to work and weep. + +Thou, mother of my mortal part, +With cruelty didst mould my heart, +And with false self-deceiving tears +Didst blind my nostrils, eyes, and ears, + +Didst close my tongue in senseless clay, +And me to mortal life betray. +The death of Jesus set me free: +Then what have I to do with thee? + + + + +THE SCHOOLBOY + + +I love to rise in a summer morn, + When the birds sing on every tree; +The distant huntsman winds his horn, + And the skylark sings with me: + O what sweet company! + +But to go to school in a summer morn,— + O it drives all joy away! +Under a cruel eye outworn, + The little ones spend the day + In sighing and dismay. + +Ah then at times I drooping sit, + And spend many an anxious hour; +Nor in my book can I take delight, + Nor sit in learning’s bower, + Worn through with the dreary shower. + +How can the bird that is born for joy + Sit in a cage and sing? +How can a child, when fears annoy, + But droop his tender wing, + And forget his youthful spring! + +O father and mother if buds are nipped, + And blossoms blown away; +And if the tender plants are stripped + Of their joy in the springing day, + By sorrow and care’s dismay,— + +How shall the summer arise in joy, + Or the summer fruits appear? +Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy, + Or bless the mellowing year, + When the blasts of winter appear? + + + + +THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT BARD + + +Youth of delight! come hither +And see the opening morn, +Image of Truth new-born. +Doubt is fled, and clouds of reason, +Dark disputes and artful teazing. +Folly is an endless maze; +Tangled roots perplex her ways; +How many have fallen there! +They stumble all night over bones of the dead; +And feel—they know not what but care; +And wish to lead others, when they should be led. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF INNOCENCE AND OF EXPERIENCE *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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