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<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>
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<p>
Title: Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience
<p>
Author: William Blake
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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]
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Edition: 10
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*** 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.
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<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>
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