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diff --git a/old/1934.txt b/old/1934.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f23a4e0 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1934.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1827 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience, +by William Blake + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 + + + + + +Title: Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience + + +Author: William Blake + + + +Release Date: December 25, 2008 [eBook #1934] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF INNOCENCE AND SONGS OF +EXPERIENCE*** + + +Transcribed from the 1901 R. Brimley Johnson edition by David Price, +email ccx074@pglaf.org + + [Picture: Image of Blake's original page of The Tyger] + + + + + + SONGS OF INNOCENCE + AND + SONGS OF EXPERIENCE + + + BY WILLIAM BLAKE + + [Picture: The Astolaf Press, Guildford] + + LONDON: R. BRIMLEY JOHNSON. + GUILDFORD: A. C. CURTIS. + + MDCCCCI. + + + + +CONTENTS + + SONGS OF INNOCENCE + + Page +Introduction 1 +The Shepherd 3 +The Echoing Green 4 +The Lamb 6 +The Little Black Boy 7 +The Blossom 9 +The Chimney-Sweeper 10 +The Little Boy Lost 12 +The Little Boy Pound 13 +Laughing Song 14 +A Cradle Song 15 +The Divine Image 17 +Holy Thursday 19 +Night 20 +Spring 23 +Nurse's Song 25 +Infant Joy 26 +A Dream 27 +On Another's Sorrow 29 + + SONGS OF EXPERIENCE + +Introduction 33 +Earth's Answer 35 +The Clod and the Pebble 37 +Holy Thursday 38 +The Little Girl Lost 39 +The Little Girl Found 42 +The Chimney-Sweeper 45 +Nurse's Song 46 +The Sick Rose 47 +The Fly 48 +The Angel 50 +The Tiger 51 +My Pretty Rose-Tree 53 +Ah, Sunflower 54 +The Lily 55 +The Garden of Love 56 +The Little Vagabond 57 +London 58 +The Human Abstract 59 +Infant Sorrow 61 +A Poison Tree 62 +A Little Boy Lost 63 +A Little Girl Lost 65 +A Divine Image 67 +A Cradle Song 68 +The Schoolboy 69 +To Tirzah 71 +The Voice of the Ancient Bard 72 + + + + +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 filled 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 called 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 called 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 kissed 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 echoed. + + + +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 lapsed 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 followed +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 sunned 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 forged 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. + + + +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? + + + +TO TIRZAH + + +Whate'er is born of mortal birth +Must be consumed 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 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 SONGS OF +EXPERIENCE*** + + +******* This file should be named 1934.txt or 1934.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/9/3/1934 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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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Brimley Johnson edition. + + + + + +Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience + +by William Blake + + + + +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 Pound +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 +The Schoolboy +To Tirzah +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 filled 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 called 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 called 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 kissed 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 echoed. + + + +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 lapsed 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 followed +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 sunned 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 forged 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. + + + +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? + + + +TO TIRZAH + + + +Whate'er is born of mortal birth +Must be consumed 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 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 Project Gutenberg Etext Songs of Innocence and Experience by Blake + diff --git a/old/sinex10.zip b/old/sinex10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f1f56ad --- /dev/null +++ b/old/sinex10.zip diff --git a/old/sinex10h.htm b/old/sinex10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..839e8c5 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/sinex10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1789 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML><HEAD> +<TITLE>The Project Gutenberg EBook Songs of Innocence and Experience by Blake</TITLE> +<META http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +<!-- +DIV.book { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; } +TABLE.bold { font-weight: bold; } +--> +</STYLE> +</HEAD> +<BODY> +<center><h1>The Project Gutenberg EBook of<br> +<a href="#title"><i>Songs of Innocence<br>and Songs of Experience</i></a><br>by William Blake</h1> +<h2>#2 in our series by William Blake</h2></center> +<DIV align="justify"> +<p><br> +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. +<p> +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** +<p> +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** +<p> +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** +<p> +Title: Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience +<p> +Author: William Blake +<p> +Release Date: October, 1999 [Etext #1934] +<br>[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +<br>[This HTML edition was first posted on March 28, 2003] +<p> +Edition: 10 +<p> +Language: English +<p> +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 +<p> +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, SONGS OF INNOCENCE AND EXPERIENCE *** +<p><br><br> +This eBook was converted to HTML, with additional editing, by Jose Menendez +from the Etext prepared by David Price from the 1901 R. Brimley Johnson edition. +<br><br><br></DIV> +<DIV class="book"> +<a name="title"></a><hr size="3" noshade> +<center> +<h1>SONGS OF INNOCENCE</h1><h2>AND</h2><h1>SONGS OF EXPERIENCE</h1><br><br><h3>BY</h3><h2>WILLIAM BLAKE</h2> +<hr size="3" noshade> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2><br> +<table width="89%" class="bold" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" summary="Table of Contents"> +<tr><td width="3%"> </td><td width="47%" valign="top"> +<a href="#I">SONGS OF INNOCENCE</a><br><br> +<a href="#1">Introduction</a><br> +<a href="#2">The Shepherd</a><br> +<a href="#3">The Echoing Green</a><br> +<a href="#4">The Lamb</a><br> +<a href="#5">The Little Black Boy</a><br> +<a href="#6">The Blossom</a><br> +<a href="#7">The Chimney-Sweeper</a><br> +<a href="#8">The Little Boy Lost</a><br> +<a href="#9">The Little Boy Found</a><br> +<a href="#10">Laughing Song</a><br> +<a href="#11">A Cradle Song</a><br> +<a href="#12">The Divine Image</a><br> +<a href="#13">Holy Thursday</a><br> +<a href="#14">Night</a><br> +<a href="#15">Spring</a><br> +<a href="#16">Nurse’s Song</a><br> +<a href="#17">Infant Joy</a><br> +<a href="#18">A Dream</a><br> +<a href="#19">On Another’s Sorrow</a></td> +<td width="50%" align="right" valign="top"> +<table class="bold" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="contents"><tr><td align="left" valign="top"> +<a href="#II">SONGS OF EXPERIENCE</a><br><br> +<a href="#20">Introduction</a><br> +<a href="#21">Earth’s Answer</a><br> +<a href="#22">The Clod and the Pebble</a><br> +<a href="#23">Holy Thursday</a><br> +<a href="#24">The Little Girl Lost</a><br> +<a href="#25">The Little Girl Found</a><br> +<a href="#26">The Chimney-Sweeper</a><br> +<a href="#27">Nurse’s Song</a><br> +<a href="#28">The Sick Rose</a><br> +<a href="#29">The Fly</a><br> +<a href="#30">The Angel</a><br> +<a href="#31">The Tiger</a><br> +<a href="#32">My Pretty Rose Tree</a><br> +<a href="#33">Ah, Sunflower</a><br> +<a href="#34">The Lily</a><br> +<a href="#35">The Garden of Love</a><br> +<a href="#36">The Little Vagabond</a><br> +<a href="#37">London</a><br> +<a href="#38">The Human Abstract</a><br> +<a href="#39">Infant Sorrow</a><br> +<a href="#40">A Poison Tree</a><br> +<a href="#41">A Little Boy Lost</a><br> +<a href="#42">A Little Girl Lost</a><br> +<a href="#43">A Divine Image</a><br> +<a href="#44">A Cradle Song</a><br> +<a href="#45">The Schoolboy</a><br> +<a href="#46">To Tirzah</a><br> +<a href="#47">The Voice of the Ancient Bard</a> +</td></tr></table></td></tr></table> +<br><hr><br> +<h2><a name="I">SONGS OF INNOCENCE</a></h2> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="1">INTRODUCTION</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poem"> +<tr><td> +Piping down the valleys wild,<br> +Piping songs of pleasant glee,<br> +On a cloud I saw a child,<br> +And he laughing said to me: +<p> +‘Pipe a song about a Lamb!’<br> +So I piped with merry cheer.<br> +‘Piper, pipe that song again.’<br> +So I piped: he wept to hear. +<p> +‘Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;<br> +Sing thy songs of happy cheer!’<br> +So I sung the same again,<br> +While he wept with joy to hear. +<p> +‘Piper, sit thee down and write<br> +In a book, that all may read.’<br> +So he vanished from my sight;<br> +And I plucked a hollow reed, +<p> +And I made a rural pen,<br> +And I stained the water clear,<br> +And I wrote my happy songs<br> +Every child may joy to hear. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="2">THE SHEPHERD</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +How sweet is the shepherd’s sweet lot!<br> +From the morn to the evening he strays;<br> +He shall follow his sheep all the day,<br> +And his tongue shall be filled with praise. +<p> +For he hears the lambs’ innocent call,<br> +And he hears the ewes’ tender reply;<br> +He is watchful while they are in peace,<br> +For they know when their shepherd is nigh. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="3">THE ECHOING GREEN</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +The sun does arise,<br> +And make happy the skies;<br> +The merry bells ring<br> +To welcome the Spring;<br> +The skylark and thrush,<br> +The birds of the bush,<br> +Sing louder around<br> +To the bells’ cheerful sound;<br> +While our sports shall be seen<br> +On the echoing green. +<p> +Old John, with white hair,<br> +Does laugh away care,<br> +Sitting under the oak,<br> +Among the old folk.<br> +They laugh at our play,<br> +And soon they all say,<br> +‘Such, such were the joys<br> +When we all—girls and boys—<br> +In our youth-time were seen<br> +On the echoing green.’ +<p> +Till the little ones, weary,<br> +No more can be merry:<br> +The sun does descend,<br> +And our sports have an end.<br> +Round the laps of their mothers<br> +Many sisters and brothers,<br> +Like birds in their nest,<br> +Are ready for rest,<br> +And sport no more seen<br> +On the darkening green. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="4">THE LAMB</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +Little lamb, who made thee?<br> +Does thou know who made thee,<br> +Gave thee life, and bid thee feed<br> +By the stream and o’er the mead;<br> +Gave thee clothing of delight,<br> +Softest clothing, woolly, bright;<br> +Gave thee such a tender voice,<br> +Making all the vales rejoice?<br> +Little lamb, who made thee?<br> +Does thou know who made thee? +<p> +Little lamb, I’ll tell thee;<br> +Little lamb, I’ll tell thee:<br> +He is called by thy name,<br> +For He calls Himself a Lamb.<br> +He is meek, and He is mild,<br> +He became a little child.<br> +I a child, and thou a lamb,<br> +We are called by His name.<br> +Little lamb, God bless thee!<br> +Little lamb, God bless thee! +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="5">THE LITTLE BLACK BOY</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +My mother bore me in the southern wild,<br> +And I am black, but O my soul is white!<br> +White as an angel is the English child,<br> +But I am black, as if bereaved of light. +<p> +My mother taught me underneath a tree,<br> +And, sitting down before the heat of day,<br> +She took me on her lap and kissed me,<br> +And, pointing to the East, began to say: +<p> +‘Look on the rising sun: there God does live,<br> +And gives His light, and gives His heat away,<br> +And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive<br> +Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday. +<p> +‘And we are put on earth a little space,<br> +That we may learn to bear the beams of love;<br> +And these black bodies and this sunburnt face<br> +Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove. +<p> +‘For, when our souls have learned the heat to bear,<br> +The cloud will vanish, we shall hear His voice,<br> +Saying, “Come out from the grove, my love and care,<br> +And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.” ’ +<p> +Thus did my mother say, and kissed me,<br> +And thus I say to little English boy.<br> +When I from black, and he from white cloud free,<br> +And round the tent of God like lambs we joy, +<p> +I’ll shade him from the heat till he can bear<br> +To lean in joy upon our Father’s knee;<br> +And then I’ll stand and stroke his silver hair,<br> +And be like him, and he will then love me. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="6">THE BLOSSOM</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +Merry, merry sparrow!<br> +Under leaves so green<br> +A happy blossom<br> +Sees you, swift as arrow,<br> +Seek your cradle narrow,<br> +Near my bosom.<br> +Pretty, pretty robin!<br> +Under leaves so green<br> +A happy blossom<br> +Hears you sobbing, sobbing,<br> +Pretty, pretty robin,<br> +Near my bosom. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="7">THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +When my mother died I was very young,<br> +And my father sold me while yet my tongue<br> +Could scarcely cry ‘Weep! weep! weep! weep!’<br> +So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep. +<p> +There’s little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head,<br> +That curled like a lamb’s back, was shaved; so I said,<br> +‘Hush, Tom! never mind it, for, when your head’s bare,<br> +You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair.’ +<p> +And so he was quiet, and that very night,<br> +As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight!—<br> +That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack,<br> +Were all of them locked up in coffins of black. +<p> +And by came an angel, who had a bright key,<br> +And he opened the coffins, and set them all free;<br> +Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing, they run<br> +And wash in a river, and shine in the sun. +<p> +Then naked and white, all their bags left behind,<br> +They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind:<br> +And the angel told Tom, if he’d be a good boy,<br> +He’d have God for his father, and never want joy. +<p> +And so Tom awoke, and we rose in the dark,<br> +And got with our bags and our brushes to work.<br> +Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm:<br> +So, if all do their duty, they need not fear harm. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="8">THE LITTLE BOY LOST</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +‘Father, father, where are you going?<br> +O do not walk so fast!<br> +Speak, father, speak to your little boy,<br> +Or else I shall be lost.’ +<p> +The night was dark, no father was there,<br> +The child was wet with dew;<br> +The mire was deep, and the child did weep,<br> +And away the vapour flew. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="9">THE LITTLE BOY FOUND</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +The little boy lost in the lonely fen,<br> +Led by the wandering light,<br> +Began to cry, but God, ever nigh,<br> +Appeared like his father, in white. +<p> +He kissed the child, and by the hand led,<br> +And to his mother brought,<br> +Who in sorrow pale, through the lonely dale,<br> +Her little boy weeping sought. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="10">LAUGHING SONG</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy,<br> +And the dimpling stream runs laughing by;<br> +When the air does laugh with our merry wit,<br> +And the green hill laughs with the noise of it; +<p> +When the meadows laugh with lively green,<br> +And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene;<br> +When Mary and Susan and Emily<br> +With their sweet round mouths sing ‘Ha ha he!’ +<p> +When the painted birds laugh in the shade,<br> +Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread:<br> +Come live, and be merry, and join with me,<br> +To sing the sweet chorus of ‘Ha ha he!’ +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="11">A CRADLE SONG</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +Sweet dreams, form a shade<br> +O’er my lovely infant’s head!<br> +Sweet dreams of pleasant streams<br> +By happy, silent, moony beams! +<p> +Sweet Sleep, with soft down<br> +Weave thy brows an infant crown!<br> +Sweet Sleep, angel mild,<br> +Hover o’er my happy child! +<p> +Sweet smiles, in the night<br> +Hover over my delight!<br> +Sweet smiles, mother’s smiles,<br> +All the livelong night beguiles. +<p> +Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,<br> +Chase not slumber from thy eyes!<br> +Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,<br> +All the dovelike moans beguiles. +<p> +Sleep, sleep, happy child!<br> +All creation slept and smiled.<br> +Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,<br> +While o’er thee thy mother weep. +<p> +Sweet babe, in thy face<br> +Holy image I can trace;<br> +Sweet babe, once like thee<br> +Thy Maker lay, and wept for me: +<p> +Wept for me, for thee, for all,<br> +When He was an infant small.<br> +Thou His image ever see,<br> +Heavenly face that smiles on thee! +<p> +Smiles on thee, on me, on all,<br> +Who became an infant small;<br> +Infant smiles are His own smiles;<br> +Heaven and earth to peace beguiles. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="12">THE DIVINE IMAGE</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,<br> +All pray in their distress,<br> +And to these virtues of delight<br> +Return their thankfulness. +<p> +For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,<br> +Is God our Father dear;<br> +And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,<br> +Is man, His child and care. +<p> +For Mercy has a human heart;<br> +Pity, a human face;<br> +And Love, the human form divine:<br> +And Peace, the human dress. +<p> +Then every man, of every clime,<br> +That prays in his distress,<br> +Prays to the human form divine:<br> +Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace. +<p> +And all must love the human form,<br> +In heathen, Turk, or Jew.<br> +Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell,<br> +There God is dwelling too. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="13">HOLY THURSDAY</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +’Twas on a holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,<br> +The children walking two and two, in red, and blue, and green:<br> +Grey-headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow,<br> +Till into the high dome of Paul’s they like Thames waters flow. +<p> +O what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town!<br> +Seated in companies they sit, with radiance all their own.<br> +The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs,<br> +Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands. +<p> +Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song,<br> +Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among:<br> +Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor.<br> +Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="14">NIGHT</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +The sun descending in the West,<br> +The evening star does shine;<br> +The birds are silent in their nest,<br> +And I must seek for mine.<br> +The moon, like a flower<br> +In heaven’s high bower,<br> +With silent delight,<br> +Sits and smiles on the night. +<p> +Farewell, green fields and happy groves,<br> +Where flocks have took delight,<br> +Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves<br> +The feet of angels bright;<br> +Unseen, they pour blessing,<br> +And joy without ceasing,<br> +On each bud and blossom,<br> +And each sleeping bosom. +<p> +They look in every thoughtless nest<br> +Where birds are covered warm;<br> +They visit caves of every beast,<br> +To keep them all from harm:<br> +If they see any weeping<br> +That should have been sleeping,<br> +They pour sleep on their head,<br> +And sit down by their bed. +<p> +When wolves and tigers howl for prey,<br> +They pitying stand and weep;<br> +Seeking to drive their thirst away,<br> +And keep them from the sheep.<br> +But, if they rush dreadful,<br> +The angels, most heedful,<br> +Receive each mild spirit,<br> +New worlds to inherit. +<p> +And there the lion’s ruddy eyes<br> +Shall flow with tears of gold:<br> +And pitying the tender cries,<br> +And walking round the fold:<br> +Saying: ‘Wrath by His meekness,<br> +And, by His health, sickness,<br> +Is driven away<br> +From our immortal day. +<p> +‘And now beside thee, bleating lamb,<br> +I can lie down and sleep,<br> +Or think on Him who bore thy name,<br> +Graze after thee, and weep.<br> +For, washed in life’s river,<br> +My bright mane for ever<br> +Shall shine like the gold,<br> +As I guard o’er the fold.’ +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="15">SPRING</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +Sound the flute!<br> +Now it’s mute!<br> +Birds delight,<br> +Day and night,<br> +Nightingale,<br> +In the dale,<br> +Lark in sky,—<br> +Merrily,<br> +Merrily, merrily to welcome in the year. +<p> +Little boy,<br> +Full of joy;<br> +Little girl,<br> +Sweet and small;<br> +Cock does crow,<br> +So do you;<br> +Merry voice,<br> +Infant noise;<br> +Merrily, merrily to welcome in the year. +<p> +Little lamb,<br> +Here I am;<br> +Come and lick<br> +My white neck;<br> +Let me pull<br> +Your soft wool;<br> +Let me kiss<br> +Your soft face;<br> +Merrily, merrily we welcome in the year. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="16">NURSE’S SONG</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +When voices of children are heard on the green,<br> +And laughing is heard on the hill,<br> +My heart is at rest within my breast,<br> +And everything else is still.<br> +‘Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,<br> +And the dews of night arise;<br> +Come, come, leave off play, and let us away,<br> +Till the morning appears in the skies.’ +<p> +‘No, no, let us play, for it is yet day,<br> +And we cannot go to sleep;<br> +Besides, in the sky the little birds fly,<br> +And the hills are all covered with sheep.’<br> +‘Well, well, go and play till the light fades away,<br> +And then go home to bed.’<br> +The little ones leaped, and shouted, and laughed,<br> +And all the hills echoed. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="17">INFANT JOY</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +‘I have no name;<br> +I am but two days old.’<br> +What shall I call thee?<br> +‘I happy am,<br> +Joy is my name.’<br> +Sweet joy befall thee! +<p> +Pretty joy!<br> +Sweet joy, but two days old.<br> +Sweet joy I call thee:<br> +Thou dost smile,<br> +I sing the while;<br> +Sweet joy befall thee! +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="18">A DREAM</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poem"> +<tr><td> +Once a dream did weave a shade<br> +O’er my angel-guarded bed,<br> +That an emmet lost its way<br> +Where on grass methought I lay. +<p> +Troubled, wildered, and forlorn,<br> +Dark, benighted, travel-worn,<br> +Over many a tangled spray,<br> +All heart-broke, I heard her say: +<p> +‘O my children! do they cry,<br> +Do they hear their father sigh?<br> +Now they look abroad to see,<br> +Now return and weep for me.’ +<p> +Pitying, I dropped a tear:<br> +But I saw a glow-worm near,<br> +Who replied, ‘What wailing wight<br> +Calls the watchman of the night? +<p> +‘I am set to light the ground,<br> +While the beetle goes his round:<br> +Follow now the beetle’s hum;<br> +Little wanderer, hie thee home!’ +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="19">ON ANOTHER’S SORROW</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +Can I see another’s woe,<br> +And not be in sorrow too?<br> +Can I see another’s grief,<br> +And not seek for kind relief? +<p> +Can I see a falling tear,<br> +And not feel my sorrow’s share?<br> +Can a father see his child<br> +Weep, nor be with sorrow filled? +<p> +Can a mother sit and hear<br> +An infant groan, an infant fear?<br> +No, no! never can it be!<br> +Never, never can it be! +<p> +And can He who smiles on all<br> +Hear the wren with sorrows small,<br> +Hear the small bird’s grief and care,<br> +Hear the woes that infants bear— +<p> +And not sit beside the nest,<br> +Pouring pity in their breast,<br> +And not sit the cradle near,<br> +Weeping tear on infant’s tear? +<p> +And not sit both night and day,<br> +Wiping all our tears away?<br> +O no! never can it be!<br> +Never, never can it be! +<p> +He doth give His joy to all:<br> +He becomes an infant small,<br> +He becomes a man of woe,<br> +He doth feel the sorrow too. +<p> +Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,<br> +And thy Maker is not by:<br> +Think not thou canst weep a tear,<br> +And thy Maker is not near. +<p> +O He gives to us His joy,<br> +That our grief He may destroy:<br> +Till our grief is fled and gone<br> +He doth sit by us and moan. +</td></tr></table> + +<br><br><hr><br> +<h2><a name="II">SONGS OF EXPERIENCE</a></h2> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="20">INTRODUCTION</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +Hear the voice of the Bard,<br> +Who present, past, and future, sees;<br> +Whose ears have heard<br> +The Holy Word<br> +That walked among the ancient trees; +<p> +Calling the lapsed soul,<br> +And weeping in the evening dew;<br> +That might control<br> +The starry pole,<br> +And fallen, fallen light renew! +<p> +‘O Earth, O Earth, return!<br> +Arise from out the dewy grass!<br> +Night is worn,<br> +And the morn<br> +Rises from the slumbrous mass. +<p> +‘Turn away no more;<br> +Why wilt thou turn away?<br> +The starry floor,<br> +The watery shore,<br> +Is given thee till the break of day.’ +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="21">EARTH’S ANSWER</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +Earth raised up her head<br> +From the darkness dread and drear,<br> +Her light fled,<br> +Stony, dread,<br> +And her locks covered with grey despair. +<p> +‘Prisoned on watery shore,<br> +Starry jealousy does keep my den<br> +Cold and hoar;<br> +Weeping o’er,<br> +I hear the father of the ancient men. +<p> +‘Selfish father of men!<br> +Cruel, jealous, selfish fear!<br> +Can delight,<br> +Chained in night,<br> +The virgins of youth and morning bear. +<p> +‘Does spring hide its joy,<br> +When buds and blossoms grow?<br> +Does the sower<br> +Sow by night,<br> +Or the ploughman in darkness plough? +<p> +‘Break this heavy chain,<br> +That does freeze my bones around!<br> +Selfish, vain,<br> +Eternal bane,<br> +That free love with bondage bound.’ +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="22">THE CLOD AND THE PEBBLE</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +‘Love seeketh not itself to please,<br> +Nor for itself hath any care,<br> +But for another gives its ease,<br> +And builds a heaven in hell’s despair.’ +<p> +So sung a little clod of clay,<br> +Trodden with the cattle’s feet,<br> +But a pebble of the brook<br> +Warbled out these metres meet: +<p> +‘Love seeketh only Self to please,<br> +To bind another to its delight,<br> +Joys in another’s loss of ease,<br> +And builds a hell in heaven’s despite.’ +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="23">HOLY THURSDAY</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +Is this a holy thing to see<br> +In a rich and fruitful land,—<br> +Babes reduced to misery,<br> +Fed with cold and usurous hand? +<p> +Is that trembling cry a song?<br> +Can it be a song of joy?<br> +And so many children poor?<br> +It is a land of poverty! +<p> +And their sun does never shine,<br> +And their fields are bleak and bare,<br> +And their ways are filled with thorns,<br> +It is eternal winter there. +<p> +For where’er the sun does shine,<br> +And where’er the rain does fall,<br> +Babe can never hunger there,<br> +Nor poverty the mind appal. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="24">THE LITTLE GIRL LOST</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +In futurity<br> +I prophesy<br> +That the earth from sleep<br> +(Grave the sentence deep) +<p> +Shall arise, and seek<br> +For her Maker meek;<br> +And the desert wild<br> +Become a garden mild. +<p> +In the southern clime,<br> +Where the summer’s prime<br> +Never fades away,<br> +Lovely Lyca lay. +<p> +Seven summers old<br> +Lovely Lyca told.<br> +She had wandered long,<br> +Hearing wild birds’ song. +<p> +‘Sweet sleep, come to me,<br> +Underneath this tree;<br> +Do father, mother, weep?<br> +Where can Lyca sleep? +<p> +‘Lost in desert wild<br> +Is your little child.<br> +How can Lyca sleep<br> +If her mother weep? +<p> +‘If her heart does ache,<br> +Then let Lyca wake;<br> +If my mother sleep,<br> +Lyca shall not weep. +<p> +‘Frowning, frowning night,<br> +O’er this desert bright<br> +Let thy moon arise,<br> +While I close my eyes.’ +<p> +Sleeping Lyca lay,<br> +While the beasts of prey,<br> +Come from caverns deep,<br> +Viewed the maid asleep. +<p> +The kingly lion stood,<br> +And the virgin viewed:<br> +Then he gambolled round<br> +O’er the hallowed ground. +<p> +Leopards, tigers, play<br> +Round her as she lay;<br> +While the lion old<br> +Bowed his mane of gold, +<p> +And her bosom lick,<br> +And upon her neck,<br> +From his eyes of flame,<br> +Ruby tears there came; +<p> +While the lioness<br> +Loosed her slender dress,<br> +And naked they conveyed<br> +To caves the sleeping maid. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="25">THE LITTLE GIRL FOUND</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +All the night in woe<br> +Lyca’s parents go<br> +Over valleys deep,<br> +While the deserts weep. +<p> +Tired and woe-begone,<br> +Hoarse with making moan,<br> +Arm in arm, seven days<br> +They traced the desert ways. +<p> +Seven nights they sleep<br> +Among shadows deep,<br> +And dream they see their child<br> +Starved in desert wild. +<p> +Pale through pathless ways<br> +The fancied image strays,<br> +Famished, weeping, weak,<br> +With hollow piteous shriek. +<p> +Rising from unrest,<br> +The trembling woman pressed<br> +With feet of weary woe;<br> +She could no further go. +<p> +In his arms he bore<br> +Her, armed with sorrow sore;<br> +Till before their way<br> +A couching lion lay. +<p> +Turning back was vain:<br> +Soon his heavy mane<br> +Bore them to the ground,<br> +Then he stalked around, +<p> +Smelling to his prey;<br> +But their fears allay<br> +When he licks their hands,<br> +And silent by them stands. +<p> +They look upon his eyes,<br> +Filled with deep surprise;<br> +And wondering behold<br> +A spirit armed in gold. +<p> +On his head a crown,<br> +On his shoulders down<br> +Flowed his golden hair.<br> +Gone was all their care. +<p> +‘Follow me,’ he said;<br> +‘Weep not for the maid;<br> +In my palace deep,<br> +Lyca lies asleep.’ +<p> +Then they followed<br> +Where the vision led,<br> +And saw their sleeping child<br> +Among tigers wild. +<p> +To this day they dwell<br> +In a lonely dell,<br> +Nor fear the wolvish howl<br> +Nor the lion’s growl. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="26">THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +A little black thing among the snow,<br> +Crying! ‘weep! weep!’ in notes of woe!<br> +‘Where are thy father and mother? Say!’—<br> +‘They are both gone up to the church to pray. +<p> +‘Because I was happy upon the heath,<br> +And smiled among the winter’s snow,<br> +They clothed me in the clothes of death,<br> +And taught me to sing the notes of woe. +<p> +‘And because I am happy and dance and sing,<br> +They think they have done me no injury,<br> +And are gone to praise God and His priest and king,<br> +Who made up a heaven of our misery.’ +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="27">NURSE’S SONG</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +When the voices of children are heard on the green,<br> +And whisperings are in the dale,<br> +The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind,<br> +My face turns green and pale. +<p> +Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,<br> +And the dews of night arise;<br> +Your spring and your day are wasted in play,<br> +And your winter and night in disguise. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="28">THE SICK ROSE</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +O rose, thou art sick!<br> +The invisible worm,<br> +That flies in the night,<br> +In the howling storm, +<p> +Has found out thy bed<br> +Of crimson joy,<br> +And his dark secret love<br> +Does thy life destroy. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="29">THE FLY</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +Little Fly,<br> +Thy summer’s play<br> +My thoughtless hand<br> +Has brushed away. +<p> +Am not I<br> +A fly like thee?<br> +Or art not thou<br> +A man like me? +<p> +For I dance,<br> +And drink, and sing,<br> +Till some blind hand<br> +Shall brush my wing. +<p> +If thought is life<br> +And strength and breath,<br> +And the want<br> +Of thought is death; +<p> +Then am I<br> +A happy fly.<br> +If I live,<br> +Or if I die. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="30">THE ANGEL</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +I dreamt a dream! What can it mean?<br> +And that I was a maiden Queen<br> +Guarded by an Angel mild:<br> +Witless woe was ne’er beguiled! +<p> +And I wept both night and day,<br> +And he wiped my tears away;<br> +And I wept both day and night,<br> +And hid from him my heart’s delight. +<p> +So he took his wings, and fled;<br> +Then the morn blushed rosy red.<br> +I dried my tears, and armed my fears<br> +With ten thousand shields and spears. +<p> +Soon my Angel came again;<br> +I was armed, he came in vain;<br> +For the time of youth was fled,<br> +And grey hairs were on my head. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="31">THE TIGER</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +Tiger, tiger, burning bright<br> +In the forests of the night,<br> +What immortal hand or eye<br> +Could frame thy fearful symmetry? +<p> +In what distant deeps or skies<br> +Burnt the fire of thine eyes?<br> +On what wings dare he aspire?<br> +What the hand dare seize the fire? +<p> +And what shoulder and what art<br> +Could twist the sinews of thy heart?<br> +And, when thy heart began to beat,<br> +What dread hand and what dread feet? +<p> +What the hammer? what the chain?<br> +In what furnace was thy brain?<br> +What the anvil? what dread grasp<br> +Dare its deadly terrors clasp? +<p> +When the stars threw down their spears,<br> +And watered heaven with their tears,<br> +Did He smile His work to see?<br> +Did He who made the lamb make thee? +<p> +Tiger, tiger, burning bright<br> +In the forests of the night,<br> +What immortal hand or eye<br> +Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="32">MY PRETTY ROSE TREE</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +A flower was offered to me,<br> +Such a flower as May never bore;<br> +But I said, ‘I’ve a pretty rose tree,’<br> +And I passed the sweet flower o’er. +<p> +Then I went to my pretty rose tree,<br> +To tend her by day and by night;<br> +But my rose turned away with jealousy,<br> +And her thorns were my only delight. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="33">AH, SUNFLOWER</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +Ah, sunflower, weary of time,<br> +Who countest the steps of the sun;<br> +Seeking after that sweet golden clime<br> +Where the traveller’s journey is done; +<p> +Where the Youth pined away with desire,<br> +And the pale virgin shrouded in snow,<br> +Arise from their graves, and aspire<br> +Where my Sunflower wishes to go! +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="34">THE LILY</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,<br> +The humble sheep a threat’ning horn:<br> +While the Lily white shall in love delight,<br> +Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="35">THE GARDEN OF LOVE</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +I went to the Garden of Love,<br> +And saw what I never had seen;<br> +A Chapel was built in the midst,<br> +Where I used to play on the green. +<p> +And the gates of this Chapel were shut,<br> +And ‘Thou shalt not’ writ over the door;<br> +So I turned to the Garden of Love<br> +That so many sweet flowers bore. +<p> +And I saw it was filled with graves,<br> +And tombstones where flowers should be;<br> +And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,<br> +And binding with briars my joys and desires. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="36">THE LITTLE VAGABOND</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +Dear mother, dear mother, the Church is cold;<br> +But the Alehouse is healthy, and pleasant, and warm.<br> +Besides, I can tell where I am used well;<br> +Such usage in heaven will never do well. +<p> +But, if at the Church they would give us some ale,<br> +And a pleasant fire our souls to regale,<br> +We’d sing and we’d pray all the livelong day,<br> +Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray. +<p> +Then the Parson might preach, and drink, and sing,<br> +And we’d be as happy as birds in the spring;<br> +And modest Dame Lurch, who is always at church,<br> +Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch. +<p> +And God, like a father, rejoicing to see<br> +His children as pleasant and happy as He,<br> +Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the barrel,<br> +But kiss him, and give him both drink and apparel. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="37">LONDON</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +I wander through each chartered street,<br> +Near where the chartered Thames does flow,<br> +A mark in every face I meet,<br> +Marks of weakness, marks of woe. +<p> +In every cry of every man,<br> +In every infant’s cry of fear,<br> +In every voice, in every ban,<br> +The mind-forged manacles I hear: +<p> +How the chimney-sweeper’s cry<br> +Every blackening church appals,<br> +And the hapless soldier’s sigh<br> +Runs in blood down palace-walls. +<p> +But most, through midnight streets I hear<br> +How the youthful harlot’s curse<br> +Blasts the new-born infant’s tear,<br> +And blights with plagues the marriage hearse. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="38">THE HUMAN ABSTRACT</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +Pity would be no more<br> +If we did not make somebody poor,<br> +And Mercy no more could be<br> +If all were as happy as we. +<p> +And mutual fear brings Peace,<br> +Till the selfish loves increase;<br> +Then Cruelty knits a snare,<br> +And spreads his baits with care. +<p> +He sits down with his holy fears,<br> +And waters the ground with tears;<br> +Then Humility takes its root<br> +Underneath his foot. +<p> +Soon spreads the dismal shade<br> +Of Mystery over his head,<br> +And the caterpillar and fly<br> +Feed on the Mystery. +<p> +And it bears the fruit of Deceit,<br> +Ruddy and sweet to eat,<br> +And the raven his nest has made<br> +In its thickest shade. +<p> +The gods of the earth and sea<br> +Sought through nature to find this tree,<br> +But their search was all in vain:<br> +There grows one in the human Brain. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="39">INFANT SORROW</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +My mother groaned, my father wept:<br> +Into the dangerous world I leapt,<br> +Helpless, naked, piping loud,<br> +Like a fiend hid in a cloud. +<p> +Struggling in my father’s hands,<br> +Striving against my swaddling bands,<br> +Bound and weary, I thought best<br> +To sulk upon my mother’s breast. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="40">A POISON TREE</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +I was angry with my friend:<br> +I told my wrath, my wrath did end.<br> +I was angry with my foe:<br> +I told it not, my wrath did grow. +<p> +And I watered it in fears<br> +Night and morning with my tears,<br> +And I sunned it with smiles<br> +And with soft deceitful wiles. +<p> +And it grew both day and night,<br> +Till it bore an apple bright,<br> +And my foe beheld it shine,<br> +And he knew that it was mine,— +<p> +And into my garden stole<br> +When the night had veiled the pole;<br> +In the morning, glad, I see<br> +My foe outstretched beneath the tree. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="41">A LITTLE BOY LOST</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +‘Nought loves another as itself,<br> +Nor venerates another so,<br> +Nor is it possible to thought<br> +A greater than itself to know. +<p> +‘And, father, how can I love you<br> +Or any of my brothers more?<br> +I love you like the little bird<br> +That picks up crumbs around the door.’ +<p> +The Priest sat by and heard the child;<br> +In trembling zeal he seized his hair,<br> +He led him by his little coat,<br> +And all admired his priestly care. +<p> +And standing on the altar high,<br> +‘Lo, what a fiend is here!’ said he:<br> +‘One who sets reason up for judge<br> +Of our most holy mystery.’ +<p> +The weeping child could not be heard,<br> +The weeping parents wept in vain:<br> +They stripped him to his little shirt,<br> +And bound him in an iron chain, +<p> +And burned him in a holy place<br> +Where many had been burned before;<br> +The weeping parents wept in vain.<br> +Are such things done on Albion’s shore? +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="42">A LITTLE GIRL LOST</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +Children of the future age,<br> +Reading this indignant page,<br> +Know that in a former time<br> +Love, sweet love, was thought a crime. +<p> +In the age of gold,<br> +Free from winter’s cold,<br> +Youth and maiden bright,<br> +To the holy light,<br> +Naked in the sunny beams delight. +<p> +Once a youthful pair,<br> +Filled with softest care,<br> +Met in garden bright<br> +Where the holy light<br> +Had just removed the curtains of the night. +<p> +There, in rising day,<br> +On the grass they play;<br> +Parents were afar,<br> +Strangers came not near,<br> +And the maiden soon forgot her fear. +<p> +Tired with kisses sweet,<br> +They agree to meet<br> +When the silent sleep<br> +Waves o’er heaven’s deep,<br> +And the weary tired wanderers weep. +<p> +To her father white<br> +Came the maiden bright;<br> +But his loving look,<br> +Like the holy book,<br> +All her tender limbs with terror shook. +<p> +‘Ona, pale and weak,<br> +To thy father speak!<br> +O the trembling fear!<br> +O the dismal care<br> +That shakes the blossoms of my hoary hair!’ +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="43">A DIVINE IMAGE</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +Cruelty has a human heart,<br> +And Jealousy a human face;<br> +Terror the human form divine,<br> +And Secrecy the human dress. +<p> +The human dress is forged iron,<br> +The human form a fiery forge,<br> +The human face a furnace sealed,<br> +The human heart its hungry gorge. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="44">A CRADLE SONG</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +Sleep, sleep, beauty bright,<br> +Dreaming in the joys of night;<br> +Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep<br> +Little sorrows sit and weep. +<p> +Sweet babe, in thy face<br> +Soft desires I can trace,<br> +Secret joys and secret smiles,<br> +Little pretty infant wiles. +<p> +As thy softest limbs I feel,<br> +Smiles as of the morning steal<br> +O’er thy cheek, and o’er thy breast<br> +Where thy little heart doth rest. +<p> +O the cunning wiles that creep<br> +In thy little heart asleep!<br> +When thy little heart doth wake,<br> +Then the dreadful light shall break. +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="45">THE SCHOOLBOY</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +I love to rise in a summer morn,<br> +When the birds sing on every tree;<br> +The distant huntsman winds his horn,<br> +And the skylark sings with me:<br> +O what sweet company! +<p> +But to go to school in a summer morn,—<br> +O it drives all joy away!<br> +Under a cruel eye outworn,<br> +The little ones spend the day<br> +In sighing and dismay. +<p> +Ah then at times I drooping sit,<br> +And spend many an anxious hour;<br> +Nor in my book can I take delight,<br> +Nor sit in learning’s bower,<br> +Worn through with the dreary shower. +<p> +How can the bird that is born for joy<br> +Sit in a cage and sing?<br> +How can a child, when fears annoy,<br> +But droop his tender wing,<br> +And forget his youthful spring? +<p> +O father and mother, if buds are nipped,<br> +And blossoms blown away;<br> +And if the tender plants are stripped<br> +Of their joy in the springing day,<br> +By sorrow and care’s dismay,— +<p> +How shall the summer arise in joy,<br> +Or the summer fruits appear?<br> +Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy,<br> +Or bless the mellowing year,<br> +When the blasts of winter appear? +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="46">TO TIRZAH</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +Whate’er is born of mortal birth<br> +Must be consumed with the earth,<br> +To rise from generation free:<br> +Then what have I to do with thee? +<p> +The sexes sprung from shame and pride,<br> +Blowed in the morn, in evening died;<br> +But mercy changed death into sleep;<br> +The sexes rose to work and weep. +<p> +Thou, mother of my mortal part,<br> +With cruelty didst mould my heart,<br> +And with false self-deceiving tears<br> +Didst blind my nostrils, eyes, and ears, +<p> +Didst close my tongue in senseless clay,<br> +And me to mortal life betray.<br> +The death of Jesus set me free:<br> +Then what have I to do with thee? +</td></tr></table> + +<hr width="150"><br> +<h3><a name="47">THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT BARD</a></h3> +<table cellpadding="8" cellspacing="8" summary="poems"> +<tr><td> +Youth of delight! come hither<br> +And see the opening morn,<br> +Image of Truth new-born.<br> +Doubt is fled, and clouds of reason,<br> +Dark disputes and artful teazing.<br> +Folly is an endless maze;<br> +Tangled roots perplex her ways;<br> +How many have fallen there!<br> +They stumble all night over bones of the dead;<br> +And feel—they know not what but care;<br> +And wish to lead others, when they should be led. +</td></tr></table></center> +<br><hr size="3" noshade></DIV> +<br><DIV align="justify"> +<a name="footer">*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, SONGS OF INNOCENCE AND EXPERIENCE ***</a> +<p> +This file should be named sinex10h.htm or sinex10h.zip<br> +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, sinex11h.htm<br> +VERSIONS based on separate sources get a new LETTER, sinex10a.htm +<p> 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