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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text @@ -0,0 +1,1853 @@ +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 *** + + + + + + + + + + + + + +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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF WILLIAM BLAKE *** + +***** This file should be named 574.txt or 574.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/5/7/574/ + + + +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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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +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 year. + + 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 Etext of Poems of William Blake + diff --git a/old/pblak10.zip b/old/pblak10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..801225c --- /dev/null +++ b/old/pblak10.zip |