This is a modern-English version of Songs of Innocence and of Experience, originally written by Blake, William.
It has been thoroughly updated, including changes to sentence structure, words, spelling,
and grammar—to ensure clarity for contemporary readers, while preserving the original spirit and nuance. If
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SONGS OF INNOCENCE
andand
OF EXPERIENCE
BY WILLIAM BLAKE
london:
r. brimley johnson.
guildford: a. c.
curtis.
London: R. Brimley Johnson.
Guildford: A. C. Curtis.
mdcccci.
mdcccci.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
Piping down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he laughing said to me:
Piping down the wild valleys,
Playing songs of cheerful joy,
On a cloud, I spotted a child,
And he laughed and 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.
‘Play a song about a Lamb!’
So I played with joyful spirit.
‘Piper, play that song again.’
So I played: he cried to hear.
‘Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
Sing thy songs of happy cheer!’
So I sung the same again,
While he wept with joy to hear.
‘Put down your pipe, your lovely pipe;
Sing your songs of joyful cheer!’
So I sang the same again,
While he cried tears of joy to hear.
‘Piper, sit thee down and write
In a book, that all may read.’
So he vanished from my sight;
And I plucked a hollow reed,
‘Piper, sit down and write
In a book that everyone can read.’
So he disappeared from my view;
And I picked a hollow reed,
And I made a rural pen,
And I stained the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs
Every child may joy to hear.
And I crafted a simple pen,
And I cleaned the water clear,
And I wrote my joyful songs
That every child can happily hear.
THE SHEPHERD
How sweet is the shepherd’s sweet lot!
From the morn to the evening he strays;
He shall follow his sheep all the day,
And his tongue shall be fillèd with praise.
How sweet is the shepherd's life!
From morning to evening, he roams;
He follows his sheep all day long,
And his tongue is filled with praise.
For he hears the lambs’ innocent call,
And he hears the ewes’ tender reply;
He is watchful while they are in peace,
For they know when their shepherd is nigh.
For he hears the innocent calls of the lambs,
And he hears the gentle replies of the ewes;
He stays alert while they are at peace,
Because they know when their shepherd is near.
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.
The sun rises,
And brightens the skies;
The joyful bells ring
To celebrate Spring;
The skylark and thrush,
The birds in the brush,
Sing louder all around
To the cheerful sound of the bells;
While our games will be played
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.’
Old John, with his white hair,
Laughs away his worries,
Sitting under the oak,
With the older folks.
They laugh at our games,
And soon they all say,
‘These were the joys
When we all—girls and boys—
In our youth 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.
Until the little ones, tired,
Can’t be happy anymore:
The sun is setting,
And our fun is over.
Around their mothers’ laps
Many sisters and brothers,
Like birds in their nest,
Are ready for sleep,
And games are no longer seen
On the fading green.
THE LAMB
Little lamb, who made thee?
Does thou know who made thee,
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed
By the stream and o’er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little lamb, who made thee?
Does thou know who made thee?
Little lamb, who created you?
Do you know who made you,
Gave you life, and told you to graze
By the stream and over the meadow;
Gave you clothing of joy,
Softest, woolly, bright clothing;
Gave you such a gentle voice,
Making all the valleys rejoice?
Little lamb, who created you?
Do you know who made you?
Little lamb, I’ll tell thee;
Little lamb, I’ll tell thee:
He is callèd by thy name,
For He calls Himself a Lamb.
He is meek, and He is mild,
He became a little child.
I a child, and thou a lamb,
We are callèd by His name.
Little lamb, God bless thee!
Little lamb, God bless thee!
Little lamb, I’ll tell you;
Little lamb, I’ll tell you:
He is called by your name,
For He calls Himself a Lamb.
He is gentle, and He is kind,
He became a little child.
I a child, and you a lamb,
We are called by His name.
Little lamb, God bless you!
Little lamb, God bless you!
THE LITTLE BLACK BOY
My mother bore me in the southern wild,
And I am black, but O my soul is white!
White as an angel is the English child,
But I am black, as if bereaved of light.
My mother gave birth to me in the southern wilderness,
And I am black, but oh, my soul is white!
White like an angel is the English child,
But I am black, as if deprived of light.
My mother taught me underneath a tree,
And, sitting down before the heat of day,
She took me on her lap and kissèd me,
And, pointing to the East, began to say:
My mom taught me under a tree,
And, sitting down in the heat of the day,
She took me on her lap and kissed me,
And, pointing to the East, started 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.
‘Look at the rising sun: that’s where God lives,
And He provides His light and warmth,
And flowers and trees and animals and people receive
Comfort in the morning, joy at noon.
‘And we are put on earth a little space,
That we may learn to bear the beams of love;
And these black bodies and this sunburnt face
Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove.
‘And we're placed on this earth for a short time,
So we can learn to handle the rays of love;
These dark bodies and this sun-kissed face
Are just a cloud, like a shaded grove.
‘For, when our souls have learned the heat to bear,
The cloud will vanish, we shall hear His voice,
Saying, “Come out from the grove, my love and care,
And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.”’
‘For, when our souls have learned to endure the heat,
The cloud will disappear, and we will hear His voice,
Saying, “Come out from the grove, my love and care,
And around 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,
Thus my mother said, and kissed me,
And this is what I say to the little English boy.
When I come from the dark, and he comes from the white cloud free,
And around God's tent, like lambs, we rejoice,
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.
I’ll protect him from the heat until he can handle
Leaning joyfully against our Father’s knee;
And then I’ll stand and run my fingers through his silver hair,
And be like him, and he will love me back.
THE BLOSSOM
Merry, merry sparrow!
Under leaves so green
A happy blossom
Sees you, swift as arrow,
Seek your cradle narrow,
Near my bosom.
Merry, merry sparrow!
Under leaves so green
A happy blossom
Sees you, quick as an arrow,
Searching for your cozy spot,
Close to my heart.
Pretty, pretty robin!
Under leaves so green
A happy blossom
Hears you sobbing, sobbing,
Pretty, pretty robin,
Near my bosom.
Pretty, pretty robin!
Under leaves so green
A happy flower
Hears you crying, crying,
Pretty, pretty robin,
Close to my heart.
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.
When my mother died, I was really young,
And my father sold me before I could even
Barely cry ‘Weep! weep! weep! weep!’
So I sweep your chimneys, and I sleep in soot.
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.’
There’s little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head,
That curled like a lamb’s back, was shaved; so I said,
‘Hush, Tom! Don’t worry about it, because when your head's bare,
You know that the soot can’t ruin 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 so he was silent, and that very night,
As Tom was sleeping, he had quite a vision!—
That thousands of chimney sweeps, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack,
Were all of them trapped in coffins of black.
And by came an angel, who had a bright key,
And he opened the coffins, and set them all free;
Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing, they run
And wash in a river, and shine in the sun.
And then an angel showed up, holding a shiny key,
And he opened the coffins and let them all go free;
Then across a green field, jumping and laughing, they ran
And splashed in a river, shining 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.
Then naked and pure, all their bags left behind,
They ascend on clouds and play in the breeze:
And the angel told Tom, if he was a good boy,
He’d have God as his father and would never lack 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.
And so Tom woke up, and we got up in the dark,
And grabbed our bags and brushes to get started.
Even though the morning was cold, Tom felt happy and warm:
So, if everyone does their part, they don’t have to worry about harm.
THE LITTLE BOY LOST
‘Father, father, where are you going?
O do not walk so fast!
Speak, father, speak to your little boy,
Or else I shall be lost.’
‘Dad, Dad, where are you going?
Oh please don’t walk so fast!
Talk to me, Dad, talk to your little boy,
Or I’ll 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 night was dark, no father was there,
The child was wet with dew;
The mud was deep, and the child cried,
And away the mist blew.
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.
The little boy lost in the lonely marsh,
Guided by the flickering light,
Started to cry, but God, always close,
Showed up like his father, dressed in white.
He kissed the child, and by the hand led,
And to his mother brought,
Who in sorrow pale, through the lonely dale,
Her little boy weeping sought.
He kissed the child and took his hand,
And led him to his mother,
Who, pale with sadness, wandered through the lonely valley,
Searching for her little boy who was crying.
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 green woods are filled with joyful sounds,
And the sparkling stream flows by with laughter;
When the air is filled with our cheerful banter,
And the green hill echoes with the sound 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 meadows are bright and green,
And the grasshopper chirps in the cheerful scene;
When Mary, Susan, and Emily
With their happy little 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!’
When the colorful birds chirp in the shade,
Where our table is laid out with cherries and nuts:
Come and enjoy life, be cheerful, and sing with me,
To the sweet tune of ‘Ha ha he!’
A CRADLE SONG
Sweet dreams, form a shade
O’er my lovely infant’s head!
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy, silent, moony beams!
Sweet dreams, create a shade
Over my beautiful baby's head!
Sweet dreams of lovely streams
By happy, quiet, moonlit beams!
Sweet Sleep, with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown!
Sweet Sleep, angel mild,
Hover o’er my happy child!
Sweet Sleep, with gentle feathers
Weave a baby crown for my little one!
Sweet Sleep, gentle angel,
Hover over my joyful child!
Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight!
Sweet smiles, mother’s smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.
Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my happiness!
Sweet smiles, mother’s smiles,
All night long captivates.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes!
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.
Soft moans, gentle sighs,
Don't chase sleep from your eyes!
Soft moans, sweeter smiles,
All the gentle moans enchant.
Sleep, sleep, happy child!
All creation slept and smiled.
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o’er thee thy mother weep.
Sleep, sleep, happy child!
All of creation is sleeping and smiling.
Sleep, sleep, happy dreams,
While your mother weeps over you.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace;
Sweet babe, once like thee
Thy Maker lay, and wept for me:
Sweet babe, I can see a holy image in your face;
Sweet babe, once like you
Your Creator lay and cried 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!
Wept for me, for you, for everyone,
When He was a tiny baby.
You see His image always,
Heavenly face that smiles at you!
Smiles on thee, on me, on all,
Who became an infant small;
Infant smiles are His own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.
Smiles on you, on me, on everyone,
Who became a tiny baby;
Baby smiles are His own smiles;
They charm heaven and earth to peace.
THE DIVINE IMAGE
To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
All pray in their distress,
And to these virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.
To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
All pray in their time of need,
And to these virtues of joy
They give their thanks.
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, Pity, Peace, and Love,
Is God our Father dear;
And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
Is humanity, 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.
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.
Then every man, from every place,
Who prays in his trouble,
Prays to the divine human form:
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.
And everyone must appreciate the human body,
Whether they're pagan, Turk, or Jew.
Where kindness, love, and compassion exist,
God is there as well.
HOLY THURSDAY
’Twas on a holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,
The children walking two and two, in red, and blue, and green:
Grey-headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow,
Till into the high dome of Paul’s they like Thames waters flow.
It was a holy Thursday, and their innocent faces were clean,
The children walked in pairs, dressed in red, blue, and green:
Gray-haired officials walked ahead, with wands as white as snow,
Until they flowed into the grand dome of St. Paul’s like the Thames.
O what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town!
Seated in companies they sit, with radiance all their own.
The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs,
Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands.
Oh, what a crowd they looked like, these flowers of London!
Grouped together, they shine with their own light.
The buzz of a crowd was present, but crowds of children,
Thousands of little boys and girls lifting their innocent hands.
Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song,
Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among:
Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor.
Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.
Now like a powerful wind, they lift their voices in song to the heavens,
Or like harmonious thunder, they resonate among the heavenly seats:
Beneath them sit the elderly men, wise protectors of the less fortunate.
So cherish compassion, or you might turn an angel away 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.
The sun is setting in the West,
The evening star is shining;
The birds are quiet in their nests,
And I need to find my own.
The moon, like a flower
In the high garden of heaven,
With quiet joy,
Sits and smiles at the night.
Farewell, green fields and happy groves,
Where flocks have took delight,
Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves
The feet of angels bright;
Unseen, they pour blessing,
And joy without ceasing,
On each bud and blossom,
And each sleeping bosom.
Goodbye, green fields and cheerful groves,
Where flocks have found joy,
Where lambs have grazed, quietly moving
The feet of bright angels;
Unseen, they bring blessings,
And endless joy,
To every bud and blossom,
And every resting heart.
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.
They search every cozy nest
Where birds are snug and warm;
They explore the dens of every animal,
To protect them from harm:
If they find anyone crying
Who should be sleeping,
They sprinkle sleep on their head,
And sit quietly 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.
When wolves and tigers howl for food,
They stand and weep with pity;
Trying to quench their thirst,
And protect the sheep.
But if they charge in fearsome,
The angels, being careful,
Welcome each gentle spirit,
To inherit new worlds.
And there the lion’s ruddy eyes
Shall flow with tears of gold:
And pitying the tender cries,
And walking round the fold:
Saying: ‘Wrath by His meekness,
And, by His health, sickness,
Is driven away
From our immortal day.
And there the lion’s fiery eyes
Shall flow with golden tears:
And feeling sorry for the gentle cries,
And walking around the pen:
Saying: ‘Anger through His gentleness,
And, through His health, illness,
Is chased away
From our eternal 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.’
‘And now next to you, bleating lamb,
I can lie down and sleep,
Or think about Him who carries your name,
Grazing nearby, and weeping.
For, washed in life’s river,
My bright mane forever
Shall shine like gold,
As I watch over the flock.’
SPRING
Sound the flute!
Now it’s mute!
Birds delight,
Day and night,
Nightingale,
In the dale,
Lark in sky,—
Merrily,
Merrily, merrily to welcome in the year.
Play the flute!
Now it's silent!
Birds are joyful,
Day and night,
Nightingale,
In the valley,
Lark in the sky,—
Cheerfully,
Cheerfully, cheerfully 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 boy,
Full of joy;
Little girl,
Sweet and small;
Rooster crows,
So do you;
Happy voice,
Baby sound;
Cheerfully, cheerfully to welcome in the year.
Little lamb,
Here I am;
Come and lick
My white neck;
Let me pull
Your soft wool;
Let me kiss
Your soft face;
Merrily, merrily we welcome in the year.
Little lamb,
Here I am;
Come and lick
My white neck;
Let me pull
Your soft wool;
Let me kiss
Your soft face;
Happily, happily we welcome in the year.
NURSE’S SONG
When voices of children are heard on the green,
And laughing is heard on the hill,
My heart is at rest within my breast,
And everything else is still.
When I hear children's voices on the lawn,
And laughter ringing from the hill,
My heart feels calm inside my chest,
And everything else is quiet.
‘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.’
‘Then come home, my children, the sun has set,
And the night dew is rising;
Come, come, stop playing, and let’s head back,
Until the morning lights up the sky.’
‘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.’
‘No, no, let’s play, because it’s still daytime,
And we can’t go to sleep;
Besides, the little birds are flying in the sky,
And the hills are covered with sheep.’
‘Well, well, go and play till the light fades away,
And then go home to bed.’
The little ones leaped, and shouted, and laughed,
And all the hills echoèd.
‘Well, go ahead and play until the light goes down,
And then head home to bed.’
The little ones jumped, 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!
‘I have no name;
I’m only two days old.’
What should I call you?
‘I’m happy,
Joy is my name.’
May sweet joy come to you!
Pretty joy!
Sweet joy, but two days old.
Sweet joy I call thee:
Thou dost smile,
I sing the while;
Sweet joy befall thee!
Pretty joy!
Sweet joy, but just two days old.
Sweet joy, I call you:
You smile,
I sing in the meantime;
Sweet joy come to you!
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.
Once a dream cast a shadow
Over my angel-guarded bed,
That an ant lost its way
Where I thought I was lying on the grass.
Troubled, wildered, and forlorn,
Dark, benighted, travel-worn,
Over many a tangled spray,
All heart-broke, I heard her say:
Troubled, confused, and lost,
Dark, weary, and travel-worn,
Through many tangled branches,
All heartbroken, I heard her say:
‘O my children! do they cry,
Do they hear their father sigh?
Now they look abroad to see,
Now return and weep for me.’
‘Oh my children! Do they cry,
Do they hear their father sigh?
Now they look around to see,
Now come back 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?’
Feeling sorry, I shed a tear:
But I noticed a glow-worm nearby,
Who answered, ‘What sorrowful figure
Is calling the guard 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!’
‘I am ready to light the ground,
While the beetle makes his round:
Follow now the beetle’s buzz;
Little wanderer, hurry 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 witness someone else's pain,
And not feel sad as well?
Can I see someone else's sadness,
And not want to help somehow?
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 I watch a falling tear,
And not feel my own sorrow?
Can a father see his child
Crying, and not be filled with sadness?
Can a mother sit and hear
An infant groan, an infant fear?
No, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!
Can a mother sit and listen
To a baby groan, a baby fear?
No, no! It can never happen!
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 can He who smiles on everyone
Hear the wren with its little sorrows,
Hear the small bird’s grief and worries,
Hear the troubles that infants endure—
And not sit beside the nest,
Pouring pity in their breast,
And not sit the cradle near,
Weeping tear on infant’s tear?
And not sit by the nest,
Filling their hearts with pity,
And not sit near the cradle,
Crying while the baby cries?
And not sit both night and day,
Wiping all our tears away?
O no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!
And not sit both night and day,
Wiping all our tears away?
Oh no! that can never happen!
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.
He gives His joy to everyone:
He becomes a tiny infant,
He becomes a man of grief,
He feels the sorrow as well.
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.
Don't think you can sigh a sigh,
And your Maker isn't nearby:
Don't think you can shed a tear,
And your Maker isn't near.
O He gives to us His joy,
That our grief He may destroy:
Till our grief is fled and gone
He doth sit by us and moan.
O He gives us His joy,
So that He can take away our grief:
Until our grief has disappeared
He sits with us and laments.
INTRODUCTION
Hear the voice of the Bard,
Who present, past, and future, sees;
Whose ears have heard
The Holy Word
That walked among the ancient trees;
Hear the voice of the Bard,
Who sees the present, past, and future;
Whose ears have heard
The Holy Word
That walked among the ancient trees;
Calling the lapséd soul,
And weeping in the evening dew;
That might control
The starry pole,
And fallen, fallen light renew!
Calling the lost soul,
And crying in the evening dew;
That could control
The starry sky,
And restore the fallen, fallen light!
‘O Earth, O Earth, return!
Arise from out the dewy grass!
Night is worn,
And the morn
Rises from the slumbrous mass.
‘O Earth, O Earth, come back!
Get up from the wet grass!
Night is done,
And the morning
Shows itself from the sleepy mass.
‘Turn away no more;
Why wilt thou turn away?
The starry floor,
The watery shore,
Is given thee till the break of day.’
‘Turn away no more;
Why will you turn away?
The starry floor,
The watery shore,
Is yours until dawn breaks.’
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.
Earth lifted her head
From the dark, gloomy depths,
Her light gone,
Cold, terrifying,
And her hair draped with pale 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.
‘Trapped on the wet shore,
Starry jealousy keeps my place
Cold and gray;
Crying over,
I hear the father of the old ones.
‘Selfish father of men!
Cruel, jealous, selfish fear!
Can delight,
Chained in night,
The virgins of youth and morning bear.
‘Selfish father of humanity!
Cruel, jealous, selfish fear!
Can bring joy,
Chained in darkness,
The young women of youth and dawn carry.
‘Does spring hide its joy,
When buds and blossoms grow?
Does the sower
Sow by night,
Or the ploughman in darkness plough?
‘Does spring hide its joy,
When buds and blossoms bloom?
Does the sower
Sow at night,
Or the ploughman plough in the dark?
‘Break this heavy chain,
That does freeze my bones around!
Selfish, vain,
Eternal bane,
That free love with bondage bound.’
‘Break this heavy chain,
That does freeze my bones around!
Selfish, vain,
Eternal curse,
That free love with bondage bound.’
THE CLOD AND THE PEBBLE
‘Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a heaven in hell’s
despair.’
‘Love doesn't seek to please itself,
Nor does it care for its own sake,
But for another, it finds its peace,
And creates a heaven in hell’s
despair.’
So sung a little clod of clay,
Trodden with the cattle’s feet,
But a pebble of the brook
Warbled out these metres meet:
So sang a small lump of clay,
Stepped on by the cattle's feet,
But a stone from the stream
Chirped out these perfect verses:
‘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.’
‘Love seeks only to please itself,
To tie another to its pleasure,
Rejoices in another’s discomfort,
And creates a hell despite heaven.’
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 this a sacred sight to behold
In a prosperous and abundant land,—
Children brought to despair,
Nourished by cold and greedy hands?
Is that trembling cry a song?
Can it be a song of joy?
And so many children poor?
It is a land of poverty!
Is that trembling cry a song?
Can it really be a song of joy?
And so many poor children?
It’s a land of poverty!
And their sun does never shine,
And their fields are bleak and bare,
And their ways are filled with thorns,
It is eternal winter there.
And their sun never shines,
And their fields are desolate and empty,
And their paths are covered in thorns,
It’s always winter there.
For where’er the sun does shine,
And where’er the rain does fall,
Babe can never hunger there,
Nor poverty the mind appal.
For wherever the sun shines,
And wherever the rain falls,
The baby will never go hungry there,
Nor will poverty frighten the mind.
THE LITTLE GIRL LOST
In futurity
I prophesy
That the earth from sleep
(Grave the sentence deep)
In the future
I predict
That the earth will wake up
(Write the sentence down)
Shall arise, and seek
For her Maker meek;
And the desert wild
Become a garden mild.
Shall rise up and look
For her Creator humbly;
And the barren wilderness
Turn into a gentle garden.
In the southern clime,
Where the summer’s prime
Never fades away,
Lovely Lyca lay.
In the southern warmth,
Where summer's peak
Never fades,
Beautiful Lyca rested.
Seven summers old
Lovely Lyca told.
She had wandered long,
Hearing wild birds’ song.
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?
‘Sweet sleep, come to me,
Underneath this tree;
Do dad and mom weep?
Where can Lyca sleep?
‘Lost in desert wild
Is your little child.
How can Lyca sleep
If her mother weep?
‘Lost in the wild desert
Is your little child.
How can Lyca sleep
If her mother weeps?
‘If her heart does ache,
Then let Lyca wake;
If my mother sleep,
Lyca shall not weep.
‘If her heart does ache,
Then let Lyca wake;
If my mother sleeps,
Lyca will not weep.
‘Frowning, frowning night,
O’er this desert bright
Let thy moon arise,
While I close my eyes.’
‘Frowning, frowning night,
Over this bright desert
Let your moon rise,
While I close my eyes.’
Sleeping Lyca lay,
While the beasts of prey,
Come from caverns deep,
Viewed the maid asleep.
Sleeping Lyca lay,
While the predators,
Came from deep caves,
Watching the girl sleep.
The kingly lion stood,
And the virgin viewed:
Then he gambolled round
O’er the hallowed ground.
The majestic lion stood,
And the maiden watched:
Then he frolicked around
On the sacred ground.
Leopards, tigers, play
Round her as she lay;
While the lion old
Bowed his mane of gold,
Leopards and tigers play
Around her as she rests;
While the old lion
Bows his golden mane,
And her bosom lick,
And upon her neck,
From his eyes of flame,
Ruby tears there came;
And her chest caressed,
And on her neck,
From his fiery eyes,
Ruby tears fell down;
While the lioness
Loosed her slender dress,
And naked they conveyed
To caves the sleeping maid.
While the lioness
Took off her slender dress,
And they carried
The sleeping girl to the caves.
THE LITTLE GIRL FOUND
All the night in woe
Lyca’s parents go
Over valleys deep,
While the deserts weep.
All night in sorrow
Lyca's parents go
Over deep valleys,
While the deserts weep.
Tired and woe-begone,
Hoarse with making moan,
Arm in arm, seven days
They traced the desert ways.
Tired and filled with sorrow,
Hoarse from their complaints,
Arm in arm for seven days,
They followed the desert paths.
Seven nights they sleep
Among shadows deep,
And dream they see their child
Starved in desert wild.
Seven nights they sleep
Among the deep shadows,
And dream they see their child
Starving in the wild desert.
Pale through pathless ways
The fancied image strays,
Famished, weeping, weak,
With hollow piteous shriek.
Pale through uncharted paths
The imagined image wanders,
Hungry, crying, weak,
With a hollow, pitiful scream.
Rising from unrest,
The trembling woman pressed
With feet of weary woe;
She could no further go.
Rising from turmoil,
The shaking woman moved
With feet of tired sorrow;
She couldn't go on.
In his arms he bore
Her, armed with sorrow sore;
Till before their way
A couching lion lay.
In his arms, he carried
Her, weighed down by deep sorrow;
Until a lion, lying in wait,
Blocked their path.
Turning back was vain:
Soon his heavy mane
Bore them to the ground,
Then he stalked around,
Turning back was pointless:
Soon his thick mane
Dropped them to the ground,
Then he paced around,
Smelling to his prey;
But their fears allay
When he licks their hands,
And silent by them stands.
Smelling his prey;
But their fears fade away
When he licks their hands,
And quietly stands by them.
They look upon his eyes,
Filled with deep surprise;
And wondering behold
A spirit armed in gold.
They look into his eyes,
Filled with deep surprise;
And wonder as they see
A spirit dressed in gold.
On his head a crown,
On his shoulders down
Flowed his golden hair.
Gone was all their care.
On his head he wore a crown,
His golden hair flowed down
Over his shoulders.
All their worries vanished.
‘Follow me,’ he said;
‘Weep not for the maid;
In my palace deep,
Lyca lies asleep.’
‘Follow me,’ he said;
‘Don’t cry for the girl;
In my palace deep,
Lyca is asleep.’
Then they followèd
Where the vision led,
And saw their sleeping child
Among tigers wild.
Then they followed
Where the vision led,
And saw their sleeping child
Among wild tigers.
To this day they dwell
In a lonely dell,
Nor fear the wolvish howl
Nor the lion’s growl.
To this day they live
In a quiet valley,
They fear neither the wolf's howl
Nor the lion’s roar.
THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER
A little black thing among the snow,
Crying! ‘weep! weep!’ in notes of woe!
‘Where are thy father and mother? Say!’—
‘They are both gone up to the church to pray.
A small black figure in the snow,
Crying! ‘weep! weep!’ in tones of sorrow!
‘Where are your father and mother? Tell me!’—
‘They both went to 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.
‘Because I felt joy on the heath,
And smiled in the winter’s snow,
They dressed me in the garments of death,
And taught me to sing the songs of sorrow.
‘And because I am happy and dance and sing,
They think they have done me no injury,
And are gone to praise God and His priest and king,
Who made up a heaven of our misery.’
'And because I'm happy and dance and sing,
They think they haven't harmed me,
And have gone to praise God and His priest and king,
Who created a heaven out of our suffering.'
NURSE’S SONG
When the voices of children are heard on the green,
And whisperings are in the dale,
The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind,
My face turns green and pale.
When I hear children playing on the grass,
And whispers in the valley,
Memories of my youth fill my mind,
My face turns pale and green.
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.
Then come home, my children, the sun has set,
And the night dew is starting to form;
Your spring and your day are wasted on games,
And your winter and night are pretending to be warm.
THE SICK ROSE
O rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,
O rose, you are 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.
Has discovered your bed
Of red pleasure,
And his hidden love
Is ruining your life.
THE FLY
Little Fly,
Thy summer’s play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away.
Little Fly,
Your summer fun
My careless hand
Has swept away.
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
Am I not
A fly like you?
Or are you not
A person like me?
For I dance,
And drink, and sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
For I dance,
And drink, and sing,
Until some unseen hand
Shall touch my wing.
If thought is life
And strength and breath,
And the want
Of thought is death;
If thinking is life
And power and breath,
And the absence
Of thought is death;
Then am I
A happy fly.
If I live,
Or if I die.
Then I am
A happy fly.
Whether I live,
Or whether 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!
I had a dream! What could it mean?
And that I was a young queen
Protected by a gentle angel:
Foolish sorrow was never tricked!
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.
And I cried both night and day,
And he dried my tears away;
And I cried both day and night,
And kept my heart’s joy out of sight.
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.
So he took his wings and flew away;
Then the morning turned a rosy red.
I wiped my tears and prepared 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.
Soon my Angel came again;
I was ready, but he came for nothing;
For the time of youth was gone,
And gray hairs were on my head.
THE TIGER
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the dark forests of the night,
What everlasting hand or eye
Could create your terrifying 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?
In what far depths or skies
Did the fire in your eyes burn?
On what wings would he dare to reach?
What hand would dare to grab 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?
And what shoulder and what skill
Could twist the sinews of your heart?
And, when your heart started to beat,
What terrifying hand and what terrifying feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
What’s with the hammer? What’s with the chain?
In what furnace was your brain?
What’s with the anvil? What terrifying grip
Dares to hold its deadly horrors?
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?
When the stars dropped their spears,
And watered the sky with their tears,
Did He smile at His creation?
Did He who made the lamb create you?
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
Tiger, tiger, glowing bright
In the nighttime forests,
What eternal hand or eye
Dares to create your scary 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.
A flower was given to me,
Such a flower as May never produced;
But I said, ‘I have a lovely rose bush,’
And I passed the sweet flower by.
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.
Then I went to my lovely rose tree,
To care for her day and night;
But my rose turned away out of jealousy,
And her thorns were my only pleasure.
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;
Ah, sunflower, tired of time,
Who counts the steps of the sun;
Searching for that sweet golden place
Where the traveler’s journey ends;
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!
Where the young person wasted away with longing,
And the pale maiden wrapped in snow,
Rise from their graves, and reach out
Where my Sunflower wants 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 simple rose has a thorn,
The humble sheep has a threatening horn:
While the white lily will bring joy in love,
Neither a thorn nor a threat can dull her beauty.
THE GARDEN OF LOVE
I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen;
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.
I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I had never seen before;
A Chapel was built in the middle,
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 the gates of this Chapel were closed,
And ‘You shall not’ written over the door;
So I went to the Garden of Love
That had so many beautiful flowers.
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.
And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tombstones where flowers should be;
And priests in black robes were walking around,
And tying up my joys and desires with thorns.
THE LITTLE VAGABOND
Dear mother, dear mother, the Church is cold;
But the Alehouse is healthy, and pleasant, and warm.
Besides, I can tell where I am used well;
Such usage in heaven will never do well.
Dear mother, dear mother, the Church is cold;
But the pub is cozy, enjoyable, and warm.
Besides, I know where I'm treated well;
Such treatment in heaven won't last.
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.
But if the Church would provide us with some ale,
And a cozy fire to warm our hearts,
We’d sing and pray all day long,
And never once wish to leave the Church.
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.
Then the Parson could preach, drink, and sing,
And we’d be as happy as birds in the spring;
And modest Dame Lurch, who is always at church,
Wouldn't have to worry about noisy kids, fasting, or punishment.
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.
And God, like a father, happy to see
His children as joyful and content as He,
Would have no more conflict with the Devil or the drink,
But embrace him, and provide him both drink and clothes.
LONDON
I wander through each chartered street,
Near where the chartered Thames does flow,
A mark in every face I meet,
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
I stroll through every mapped-out street,
Close to where the mapped-out Thames flows,
A sign in every face I meet,
Signs of weakness, signs of sorrow.
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:
In every shout of every man,
In every baby’s cry of fear,
In every voice, in every restriction,
The man-made chains I hear:
How the chimney-sweeper’s cry
Every blackening church appals,
And the hapless soldier’s sigh
Runs in blood down palace-walls.
How the chimney sweep's cry
Terrifies every darkening church,
And the unfortunate soldier's sigh
Drips blood down the 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.
But most, through midnight streets I hear
How the young prostitute’s curse
Shoots down the newborn baby's tear,
And poisons the wedding 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.
Pity wouldn’t exist anymore
If we didn’t create any suffering,
And Mercy wouldn’t exist anymore
If everyone were as happy as we are.
And mutual fear brings Peace,
Till the selfish loves increase;
Then Cruelty knits a snare,
And spreads his baits with care.
And shared fear creates peace,
Until selfish desires grow;
Then cruelty weaves a trap,
And carefully lays out its bait.
He sits down with holy fears,
And waters the ground with tears;
Then Humility takes its root
Underneath his foot.
He sits down with sacred worries,
And soaks the ground with tears;
Then Humility starts to grow
Right under his foot.
Soon spreads the dismal shade
Of Mystery over his head,
And the caterpillar and fly
Feed on the Mystery.
Soon the dark veil of Mystery spreads
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.
And it produces the fruit of Deceit,
Reddish and sweet to eat,
And the raven has built its nest
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.
The gods of the earth and sea
Looked through nature to find this tree,
But their search was completely pointless:
There's one that grows 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.
My mom sighed, my dad cried:
Into the risky world I jumped,
Vulnerable, bare, crying out,
Like a monster hidden 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.
Struggling in my father’s grip,
Fighting against my swaddling wraps,
Tied up and tired, I figured it was better
To sulk on my mother’s chest.
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.
I was mad at my friend:
I shared my anger, and it went away.
I was mad at my enemy:
I kept it to myself, and my anger grew.
And I watered it in fears
Night and morning with my tears,
And I sunnèd it with smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And I watered it in fear
Night and morning with my tears,
And I brightened it with smiles
And with gentle, tricky ways.
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 it grew both day and night,
Until it produced a bright apple,
And my enemy saw it shine,
And he realized 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.
And into my garden snuck
When the night had covered the sky;
In the morning, happy, I see
My enemy lying 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.
‘No one loves another as they love themselves,
Nor holds another in such high regard,
Nor is it possible to think
Of a greater being than oneself 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.’
‘And, dad, how can I love you
Or any of my brothers more?
I love you like the little bird
That picks up crumbs around the door.’
The Priest sat by and heard the child;
In trembling zeal he seized his hair,
He led him by his little coat,
And all admired his priestly care.
The Priest sat nearby and listened to the child;
With shaking passion, he grabbed his hair,
He took him by his little coat,
And everyone admired his priestly concern.
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.’
And standing on the high altar,
‘Look, what a monster is here!’ he said:
‘One who puts reason in charge
Of our most sacred 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,
The crying child couldn't be heard,
The crying parents cried for nothing:
They took off his clothes down to his little shirt,
And tied him up with an iron chain,
And burned him in a holy place
Where many had been burned before;
The weeping parents wept in vain.
Are such things done on Albion’s shore?
And burned him in a sacred place
Where many had been burned before;
The grieving parents cried in vain.
Are such things done on Albion’s shore?
A LITTLE GIRL LOST
Children of the future age,
Reading this indignant page,
Know that in a former time
Love, sweet love, was thought a crime.
Children of the future,
Reading this passionate page,
Know that in a time long past,
Love, sweet love, was seen as 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.
In the golden age,
Free from the chill of winter,
Youth and bright maiden,
To the sacred light,
Rejoice naked in the sunny rays.
Once a youthful pair,
Filled with softest care,
Met in garden bright
Where the holy light
Had just removed the curtains of the night.
Once a young couple,
Filled with tender care,
Met in a bright garden
Where the sacred light
Had just drawn back the curtains of the night.
There, in rising day,
On the grass they play;
Parents were afar,
Strangers came not near,
And the maiden soon forgot her fear.
There, in the morning light,
They play on the grass;
Parents were far away,
Strangers didn’t come close,
And the young girl 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.
Tired of sweet kisses,
They decide to meet
When the quiet sleep
Covers heaven’s vastness,
And the exhausted wanderers cry.
To her father white
Came the maiden bright;
But his loving look,
Like the holy book,
All her tender limbs with terror shook.
To her father white
Came the bright maiden;
But his loving gaze,
Like the sacred text,
Made all her delicate limbs tremble with fear.
Ona, pale and weak,
To thy father speak!
O the trembling fear!
O the dismal care
That shakes the blossoms of my hoary hair!’
Ona, pale and weak,
Speak to your father!
Oh, the trembling fear!
Oh, the gloomy worry
That shakes the blossoms of my gray hair!’
A DIVINE IMAGE
Cruelty has a human heart,
And Jealousy a human face;
Terror the human form divine,
And Secrecy the human dress.
Cruelty has a human heart,
And Jealousy a human face;
Terror the human form divine,
And Secrecy the human outfit.
The human dress is forgèd iron,
The human form a fiery forge,
The human face a furnace sealed,
The human heart its hungry gorge.
The human body is made of forged iron,
The human shape a blazing forge,
The human face a closed furnace,
The human heart its eager appetite.
A CRADLE SONG
Sleep, sleep, beauty bright,
Dreaming in the joys of night;
Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.
Sleep, sleep, beautiful one,
Dreaming of the joys of night;
Sleep, sleep; in your dreams
Little worries sit and weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.
Sweet baby, in your face
Soft desires I can see,
Hidden joys and secret smiles,
Little cute infant tricks.
As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O’er thy cheek, and o’er thy breast
Where thy little heart doth rest.
As I feel your softest limbs,
Smiles like the morning creep
Over your cheek, and over your chest
Where your little heart rests.
O the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep!
When thy little heart doth wake,
Then the dreadful light shall break.
Oh, the clever tricks that sneak
Into your little heart while it’s asleep!
When your little heart wakes up,
Then the horrifying light will shine.
TO TIRZAH
Whate’er is born of mortal birth
Must be consumèd with the earth,
To rise from generation free:
Then what have I to do with thee?
Whatever is born of mortal birth
Must be consumed by the earth,
To rise from generation free:
Then what do I have to do with you?
The sexes sprung from shame and pride,
Blowed in the morn, in evening died;
But mercy changed death into sleep;
The sexes rose to work and weep.
The genders came from shame and pride,
Bloomed in the morning, in the evening died;
But mercy turned death into sleep;
The genders rose to work and weep.
Thou, mother of my mortal part,
With cruelty didst mould my heart,
And with false self-deceiving tears
Didst blind my nostrils, eyes, and ears,
You, mother of my human side,
With cruelty shaped my heart,
And with false self-deceiving tears
Blinded 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?
Did you seal my tongue in useless clay,
And betray me to mortal life?
The death of Jesus set me free:
So what do I have to do with you?
THE SCHOOLBOY
I love to rise in a summer morn,
When the birds sing on every tree;
The distant huntsman winds his horn,
And the skylark sings with me:
O what sweet company!
I love to wake up on a summer morning,
When the birds are singing in every tree;
The far-off hunter blows his horn,
And the skylark sings along with me:
Oh, what sweet company!
But to go to school in a summer morn,—
O it drives all joy away!
Under a cruel eye outworn,
The little ones spend the day
In sighing and dismay.
But going to school on a summer morning—
Oh, it takes all the joy away!
Under a tired, harsh gaze,
The little ones spend the day
In sighs and despair.
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.
Ah, then at times I sit here feeling low,
And waste many a worried hour;
I can't find joy in my book,
Nor enjoy learning's haven,
Worn down by the endless rain.
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!
How can a bird that's meant for happiness
Sit in a cage and sing?
How can a child, when fears trouble,
Just droop his gentle wing,
And forget his youthful spring!
O father and mother if buds are nipped,
And blossoms blown away;
And if the tender plants are stripped
Of their joy in the springing day,
By sorrow and care’s dismay,—
O father and mother, if the buds are clipped,
And flowers are blown away;
And if the delicate plants are robbed
Of their joy on this spring day,
By sorrow and worry’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?
How will summer come in with joy,
Or how will summer fruits show up?
Or how will we collect what sorrows ruin,
Or appreciate the ripening year,
When the cold winds of winter come?
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.
Youth of joy! come here
And see the dawn breaking,
An image of Truth just born.
Doubt has vanished, and the clouds of reason,
Dark arguments and clever teasing.
Foolishness is an endless maze;
Tangled roots confuse her paths;
How many have gotten lost there!
They trip all night over the bones of the dead;
And feel—they don’t know what but care;
And want to guide others when they should be guided.
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