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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems of William Blake, 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: Poems of William Blake
+
+Author: William Blake
+
+Posting Date: July 30, 2008 [EBook #574]
+Release Date: June, 1996
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF WILLIAM BLAKE ***
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
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+
+
+
+Poems of William Blake
+
+
+by
+
+William Blake
+
+
+
+SONGS OF INNOCENCE AND OF EXPERIENCE
+
+and
+
+THE BOOK of THEL
+
+
+
+
+
+   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 sang 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 vanish'd from my sight;
+     And I pluck'd a hollow reed,
+
+   And I made a rural pen,
+     And I stain'd 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 stays;
+   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 watching 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
+     Dost 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?
+     Dost 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 oh 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, pointed 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
+     Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove.
+
+   "For when our souls have learn'd 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 let 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?
+     Oh 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,
+     The 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  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 smile,
+   All the livelong night beguile.
+
+   Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
+   Chase not slumber from thine eyes!
+   Sweet moan, sweeter smile,
+   All the dovelike moans beguile.
+
+   Sleep, sleep, happy child!
+   All creation slept and smiled.
+   Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
+   While o'er thee doth 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.
+
+
+   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,
+   Came children walking two and two, in read, 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.
+
+   Oh 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 wild they raise to heaven the voice of song,
+   Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among:
+   Beneath them sit the aged man, 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 grove,
+   Where flocks have ta'en delight.
+   Where lambs have nibbled, silent move
+   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,
+     Are 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!
+        Bird's 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, to welcome in the year.
+
+
+   NURSE'S SONG
+
+   When the 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 tangle spray,
+   All heart-broke, I heard her say:
+
+   "Oh 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 next,
+   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?
+   Oh 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.
+
+   Oh He gives to us his joy,
+   That our grief He may destroy:
+   Till our grief is fled an 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 tree;
+
+   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,
+   Are 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 plowman 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 it ease,
+     And builds a heaven in hell's despair."
+
+   So sang 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 son 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,
+   Babes should never hunger there,
+     Nor poverty the mind appall.
+
+
+   THE LITTLE GIRL LOST
+
+   In futurity
+   I prophetic see
+   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 breast did 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 in 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 make up a heaven of our misery."
+
+
+   NURSE'S SONG
+
+   When 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 TYGER
+
+   Tyger, tyger, 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?
+
+   Tyger, tyger, 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 laid me down upon a bank,
+     Where Love lay sleeping;
+   I heard among the rushes dank
+     Weeping, weeping.
+
+   Then I went to the heath and the wild,
+     To the thistles and thorns of the waste;
+   And they told me how they were beguiled,
+     Driven out, and compelled to the chaste.
+
+   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;
+   The poor parsons with wind like a blown bladder swell.
+
+   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 wandered 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 appalls,
+   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 his 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 the 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 thing 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.
+
+   Then, 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!
+   Oh the trembling fear!
+   Oh the dismal care
+   That shakes the blossoms of my hoary hair!"
+
+
+   THE SCHOOLBOY
+
+   I love to rise on a summer morn,
+     When birds are singing on every tree;
+   The distant huntsman winds his horn,
+     And the skylark sings with me:
+     Oh what sweet company!
+
+   But to go to school in a summer morn,--
+     Oh 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?
+
+   Oh 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 sprang from shame and pride,
+   Blown 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 bind 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.
+
+
+   APPENDIX
+
+   A DIVINE IMAGE
+
+   Cruelty has a human heart,
+     And Jealousy a human face;
+   Terror the human form divine,
+     And Secresy 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.
+
+   NOTE:  Though written and engraved by Blake, "A DIVINE IMAGE" was
+   never included in the SONGS OF INNOCENCE AND OF EXPERIENCE.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  William Blake's
+
+  THE BOOK of THEL
+
+
+  THEL'S Motto
+
+  Does the Eagle know what is in the pit?
+  Or wilt thou go ask the Mole:
+  Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod?
+  Or Love in a golden bowl?
+
+
+  THE BOOK of THEL
+
+  The Author & Printer Willm. Blake. 1780
+
+
+  THEL
+
+  I
+
+  The daughters of Mne Seraphim led round their sunny flocks,
+  All but the youngest: she in paleness sought the secret air.
+  To fade away like morning beauty from her mortal day:
+  Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is heard;
+  And thus her gentle lamentation falls like morning dew.
+
+  O life of this our spring!  why fades the lotus of the water?
+  Why fade these children of the spring? born but to smile & fall.
+  Ah! Thel is like a watry bow, and like a parting cloud,
+  Like a reflection in a glass: like shadows in the water
+  Like dreams of infants, like a smile upon an infants face.
+  Like the doves voice, like transient day, like music in the air:
+  Ah! gentle may I lay me down and gentle rest my head.
+  And gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gently hear the voice
+  Of him that walketh in the garden in the evening time.
+
+  The Lilly of the valley breathing in the humble grass
+  Answerd the lovely maid and said: I am a watry weed,
+  And I am very small and love to dwell in lowly vales:
+  So weak the gilded butterfly scarce perches on my head
+  Yet I am visited from heaven and he that smiles on all
+  Walks in the valley, and each morn over me spreads his hand
+  Saying, rejoice thou humble grass, thou new-born lily flower.
+  Thou gentle maid of silent valleys and of modest brooks:
+  For thou shall be clothed in light, and fed with morning manna:
+  Till summers heat melts thee beside the fountains and the springs
+  To flourish in eternal vales: they why should Thel complain.
+  Why should the mistress of the vales of Har, utter a sigh.
+
+  She ceasd & smild in tears, then sat down in her silver shrine.
+
+  Thel answerd, O thou little virgin of the peaceful valley.
+  Giving to those that cannot crave, the voiceless, the o'er tired
+  The breath doth nourish the innocent lamb, he smells the milky garments
+  He crops thy flowers while thou sittest smiling in his face,
+  Wiping his mild and meekin mouth from all contagious taints.
+  Thy wine doth purify the golden honey; thy perfume.
+  Which thou dost scatter on every little blade of grass that springs
+  Revives the milked cow, & tames the fire-breathing steed.
+  But Thel is like a faint cloud kindled at the rising sun:
+  I vanish from my pearly throne, and who shall find my place.
+
+  Queen of the vales the Lily answered, ask the tender cloud,
+  And it shall tell thee why it glitters in the morning sky.
+  And why it scatters its bright beauty thro the humid air.
+  Descend O little cloud & hover before the eyes of Thel.
+
+  The Cloud descended and the Lily bowd her modest head:
+  And went to mind her numerous charge among the verdant grass.
+
+
+  II.
+
+  O little Cloud the virgin said, I charge thee to tell me
+  Why thou complainest now when in one hour thou fade away:
+  Then we shall seek thee but not find: ah Thel is like to thee.
+  I pass away, yet I complain, and no one hears my voice.
+
+  The Cloud then shewd his golden head & his bright form emerg'd.
+  Hovering and glittering on the air before the face of Thel.
+
+  O virgin know'st thou not our steeds drink of the golden springs
+  Where Luvah doth renew his horses: lookst thou on my youth.
+  And fearest thou because I vanish and am seen no more.
+  Nothing remains; O maid I tell thee, when I pass away.
+  It is to tenfold life, to love, to peace, and raptures holy:
+  Unseen descending, weigh my light wings upon balmy flowers:
+  And court the fair eyed dew, to take me to her shining tent
+  The weeping virgin, trembling kneels before the risen sun.
+  Till we arise link'd in a golden band and never part:
+  But walk united bearing food to all our tender flowers.
+
+  Dost thou O little cloud?  I fear that I am not like thee:
+  For I walk through the vales of Har, and smell the sweetest flowers:
+  But I feed not the little flowers: I hear the warbling birds,
+  But I feed not the warbling birds, they fly and seek their food:
+  But Thel delights in these no more because I fade away
+  And all shall say, without a use this shining women liv'd,
+  Or did she only live to be at death the food of worms.
+
+  The Cloud reclind upon his airy throne and answerd thus.
+
+  Then if thou art the food of worms, O virgin of the skies,
+  How great thy use, how great thy blessing, every thing that lives.
+  Lives not alone nor or itself: fear not and I will call,
+  The weak worm from its lowly bed, and thou shalt hear its voice.
+  Come forth worm and the silent valley, to thy pensive queen.
+
+  The helpless worm arose and sat upon the Lillys leaf,
+  And the bright Cloud saild on, to find his partner in the vale.
+
+
+  III.
+
+  Then Thel astonish'd view'd the Worm upon its dewy bed.
+
+  Art thou a Worm?  image of weakness,  art thou but a Worm?
+  I see thee like an infant wrapped in the Lillys leaf;
+  Ah weep not little voice, thou can'st not speak, but thou can'st weep:
+  Is this a Worm?  I see they lay helpless & naked: weeping
+  And none to answer, none to cherish thee with mothers smiles.
+
+  The Clod of Clay heard the Worms voice & rais'd her pitying head:
+  She bowd over the weeping infant, and her life exhald
+  In milky fondness, then on Thel she fix'd her humble eyes;
+
+  O beauty of the vales of Har, we live not for ourselves,
+  Thou seest me the meanest thing, and so I am indeed:
+  My bosom of itself is cold, and of itself is dark,
+
+  But he that loves the lowly, pours his oil upon my head
+  And kisses me, and binds his nuptial bands around my breast.
+  And says; Thou mother of my children, I have loved thee
+  And I have given thee a crown that none can take away.
+  But how this is sweet maid, I know not, and I cannot know
+  I ponder, and I cannot ponder; yet I live and love.
+
+  The daughter of beauty wip'd her pitying tears with her white veil,
+  And said, Alas!  I knew not this, and therefore did I weep:
+  That God would love a Worm I knew, and punish the evil foot
+  That wilful bruis'd its helpless form: but that he cherish'd it
+  With milk and oil I never knew, and therefore did I weep,
+  And I complaind in the mild air, because I fade away.
+  And lay me down in thy cold bed, and leave my shining lot.
+
+  Queen of the vales, the matron Clay answered: I heard thy sighs.
+  And all thy moans flew o'er my roof, but I have call'd them down:
+  Wilt thou O Queen enter my house, tis given thee to enter,
+  And to return: fear nothing, enter with thy virgin feet.
+
+
+  IV.
+
+  The eternal gates terrific porter lifted the northern bar:
+  Thel enter'd in & saw the secrets of the land unknown;
+  She saw the couches of the dead, & where the fibrous roots
+  Of every heart on earth infixes deep its restless twists:
+  A land of sorrows & of tears where never smile was seen.
+
+  She wandered in the land of clouds thro' valleys dark, listning
+  Dolors & lamentations: waiting oft beside the dewy grave
+  She stood in silence, listning to the voices of the ground,
+  Till to her own grave plot she came, & there she sat down.
+  And heard this voice of sorrow breathed from the hollow pit.
+
+  Why cannot the Ear be closed to its own destruction?
+  Or the glistening Eye to the poison of a smile!
+  Why are Eyelids stord with arrows ready drawn,
+  Where a thousand fighting men in ambush lie!
+  Or an Eye of gifts & graces showring fruits & coined gold!
+
+  Why a Tongue impress'd with honey from every wind?
+  Why an Ear, a whirlpool fierce to draw creations in?
+  Why a Nostril wide inhaling terror trembling & affright
+  Why a tender curb upon the youthful burning boy?
+  Why a little curtain of flesh on the bed of our desire?
+
+  The Virgin started from her seat, & with a shriek,
+  Fled back unhinderd till she came into the vales of Har.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems of William Blake, by William Blake
+
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