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Poems of William Blake
William Blake's Poems
by
by
William Blake
William Blake
SONGS OF INNOCENCE AND OF EXPERIENCE
and
and
THE BOOK of THEL
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:
Piping down the wild valleys,
Playing tunes of joyful cheer,
On a cloud, I saw a kid,
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 sang the same again,
While he wept with joy to hear.
"Put down your pipe, your joyful pipe;
Sing your songs of cheerful joy!"
So I sang it once more,
While he cried tears of happiness to listen.
"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,
"Piper, sit down and write
In a book that everyone can read."
Then he disappeared from my view;
And I grabbed 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.
And I created a simple pen,
And I made the water clear,
And I wrote my joyful songs
For every child to happily 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.
How sweet is the Shepherd's easy life!
From morning to evening, he stays;
He'll follow his sheep all day,
And his words will be full of 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.
For he hears the lambs' innocent call,
And he hears the ewes' gentle reply;
He is watching while they are at peace,
For 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 cheerful bells ring
To welcome Spring;
The skylark and thrush,
The birds in the bushes,
Sing louder all around
To the joyful sound of the bells;
While our games are played
On the lively 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,
Among the old folks.
They laugh at our games,
And soon they all say,
"These were the joys
When we all—girls and boys—
Were young and 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.
Till the little ones, tired,
No longer can be cheerful:
The sun is setting,
And our fun has to end.
Around their mothers' laps
Many sisters and brothers,
Like birds in their nest,
Are ready to rest,
And play is no longer 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, who made you
Do you know who made you,
Gave you life, and told you to graze
By the stream and across the fields;
Gave you clothes of joy,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave you such a gentle voice,
Making all the valleys rejoice?
Little Lamb, who made you?
Do you know who made you?
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!
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 oh my soul is white!
White as an angel is the English child,
But I am black, as if bereaved of light.
My mom had me in the southern wilderness,
And I am black, but oh, my soul is white!
As white as an angel is the English child,
But I am black, as if robbed 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:
My mom taught me under a tree,
And, sitting down in the heat of the day,
She had 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 shares His light and warmth,
And flowers, trees, animals, and people receive
Comfort in the morning, joy in the afternoon.
"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.
"And we're placed on this earth for a short time,
So we can learn to handle the rays of love.
And these dark bodies and this sun-kissed face
Are just temporary, like a shaded 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',"
"For when we've learned to handle the heat,
The cloud will clear, and we'll 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 mom said and kissed me;
And that's what I say to the little English boy.
When I’m free from the black cloud and he from the white,
And like lambs we joyfully gather around God's tent.
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 it
To joyfully lean on our Father's knee;
And then I'll stand and gently run my fingers through his silver hair,
And be just like him, and he'll love me in return.
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.
Merry, merry sparrow!
Under green leaves
A happy flower
Sees you, quick as an arrow,
Search for your small nest,
Close to my heart.
Pretty, pretty robin!
Under green leaves
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 mom passed away, I was really young,
And my dad sold me before I could even say
"Please! please! please! please!"
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 quiet, and that very night,
As Tom was sleeping, he had an incredible vision!—
That thousands of chimney sweeps, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack,
Were all locked up in black coffins.
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.
And then an angel appeared, holding a shining key,
And he opened the coffins, setting them all free;
Then across a green field, they jumped and laughed as they ran,
And splashed in a river, shining in the sunlight.
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 bare and pale, with all their bags left behind,
They rise on clouds and play in the wind;
And the Angel told Tom, if he’d be a good boy,
He’d have God as his father and 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 out of bed in the dark,
And grabbed our bags and brushes to get to work.
Even though the morning was chilly, Tom felt happy and warm:
So, if everyone does their part, they have nothing to fear.
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."
"Father, father, where are you going?
Oh don't walk so fast!
Talk to me, father, 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 soaked with dew;
The mud was deep, and the child cried,
And away the mist drifted.
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,
Led by the flickering light,
Started to cry, but God, always close,
Showed up like his dad, 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.
He kissed the child and took his hand,
And brought him to his mother,
Who, pale with grief, through the quiet valley,
Searched 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 echo with joy,
And the bubbling stream flows by happily;
When the air is filled with our cheerful banter,
And the green hill joins in 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 with lively green,
And the grasshopper chirps in the cheerful scene,
When Mary and Susan and Emily
With their joyful 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!"
When the colorful birds laugh in the shade,
Where our table is set with cherries and nuts:
Come live, be happy, and join 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 dreams, cast a shade
Over my beautiful baby's head!
Sweet dreams of gentle 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 soft padding
Weave a gentle 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 smile,
All the livelong night beguile.
Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my joy!
Sweet smiles, mom's smile,
All through the night enchant.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thine eyes!
Sweet moan, sweeter smile,
All the dovelike moans beguile.
Sweet moans, gentle sighs,
Do not chase sleep from your eyes!
Sweet moan, sweeter smile,
All the gentle moans enchant for a while.
Sleep, sleep, happy child!
All creation slept and smiled.
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o'er thee doth mother weep.
Sleep, sleep, happy child!
All of nature is asleep and smiling.
Sleep, sleep, joyful sleep,
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, in your face
Holy image I can see;
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!
Cried for me, for you, for everyone,
When He was just a tiny baby.
You see His image always,
Heavenly face that smiles upon 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 turned into a tiny baby;
Baby smiles are his smiles;
They charm heaven and earth into peace.
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,
Everyone prays in their pain,
And to these joyful virtues
They express their gratitude.
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 dear Father;
And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
Is humanity, his child and concern.
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 attire.
Then every man, of every clime,
That prays in his distress,
Prays to the human form divine:
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.
Then every person, from every place,
That prays in their distress,
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 should appreciate the human body,
Whether they're pagan, Turkish, or Jewish.
Where kindness, love, and compassion exist,
God is there as well.
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.
It was a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,
Children walked two by two, dressed in red, blue, and green:
Grey-haired ushers walked ahead, with wands as white as snow,
Until they flowed into the high dome of St. Paul's like Thames waters.
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.
Oh, what a crowd they appeared to be, these flowers of London!
Seated in groups, they shine with their own unique glow.
The buzz of many people was present, but people like innocent children,
Thousands of little boys and girls lifting their pure 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.
Now like a powerful storm, they lift their voices in song to the heavens,
Or like a chorus of thunder, among the seats of heaven:
Below them sits the elderly man, wise protectors of the less fortunate.
So show some compassion, or you may send 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 sky's high garden,
With silent joy,
Sits and smiles at 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.
Farewell, green fields and joyful grove,
Where flocks have found delight.
Where lambs have grazed, silently move
The feet of bright angels;
Unseen they bring blessings,
And joy that never ends,
On every bud and blossom,
And every sleeping 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 careless nest
Where birds are snug and warm;
They explore the lairs of all creatures,
To protect them from harm:
If they find anyone crying
Who should be sleeping,
They sprinkle 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.
When wolves and tigers howl for their next meal,
They stand and weep with pity;
Trying to quench their thirst,
And keep themselves away from the sheep.
But if they charge in fearfully,
The angels, ever watchful,
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,
Are driven away
From our immortal day.
And there the lion's bright eyes
Shall flow with tears of gold:
And feeling for the gentle cries,
And walking around the pen:
Saying: "Anger through His gentleness,
And, through His health, illness,
Are cast 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 beside you, bleating lamb,
I can lie down and sleep,
Or think of Him who bore your name,
Graze after you, and weep.
For, washed in life's river,
My bright mane forever
Shall shine like gold,
As I watch over 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.
Play the flute!
Now it's silent!
Bird's joy,
All day and night,
Nightingale,
In the valley,
Lark in the sky,—
Happily,
Happily, happily, to celebrate the new 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 sounds,
Baby noises;
Joyfully, joyfully, 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.
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, 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."
When you can hear kids playing on the grass,
And laughter echoing on the hill,
My heart feels calm inside me,
And everything else is quiet.
"Come home now, my kids, the sun has set,
And the night dew is coming up;
Come on, stop playing, and let's go,
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."
"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.
"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."
"Alright, go ahead and play until it gets dark,
And then head home to bed."
The little ones jumped, shouted, and laughed,
And the hills echoed with their joy.
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 don't have a 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 two days old.
Sweet Joy I call you:
You smile,
I sing the while;
Sweet joy be for 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 wove a shadow
Over my angel-guarded bed,
That an ant lost its way
Where on the grass I thought I lay.
Troubled, wildered, and forlorn,
Dark, benighted, travel-worn,
Over many a tangle spray,
All heart-broke, I heard her say:
Troubled, confused, and lost,
Dark, worn out from travel,
Over many tangled branches,
With a broken heart, 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."
"Oh my children! Do they cry,
Do they hear their father sigh?
Now they look out 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?
Pitying, I dropped a tear:
But I saw a glow-worm nearby,
Who replied, "What crying soul
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!"
"I’m ready to light up the ground,
While the beetle makes his rounds:
Follow the sound of 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 sadness too?
Can I see another's sorrow,
And not look for some comfort?
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 see a falling tear,
And not feel my share of the sorrow?
Can a father see his child
Weep, 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 moan, a baby fear?
No, no! it just can't 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 babies endure—
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 next to the other,
Pouring pity into their hearts,
And not sit by the cradle,
Weeping tears for the baby's tears?
And not sit both night and day,
Wiping all our tears away?
Oh 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 will it happen!
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 filled with sadness,
He feels 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.
Don't think you can sigh a sigh,
And your Creator isn't nearby:
Don't think you can shed a tear,
And your Creator isn't 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.
Oh, He gives us His joy,
So that He can take away our grief:
Until our grief has disappeared,
He sits with us and mourns.
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;
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 lapsed 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 dewy grass!
Night is over,
And the morning
Rises from the sleepy ground.
"Turn away no more;
Why wilt thou turn away?
The starry floor,
The watery shore,
Are given thee till the break of day."
"Turn away no more;
Why will you turn away?
The starry ground,
The watery shore,
Are yours until daybreak."
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 deep, dark, and gloomy
Her light disappeared,
Cold and terrifying,
And her hair was shrouded in 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.
"Trapped on the watery shore,
Starry jealousy keeps my place
Cold and grim;
Weeping 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 joy,
Bound in darkness,
The young women of youth and dawn provide?
"Does spring hide its joy,
When buds and blossoms grow?
Does the sower
Sow by night,
Or the plowman in darkness plough?
"Does spring conceal its happiness,
When buds and flowers bloom?
Does the farmer
Sow at night,
Or does the plowman plow 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 freezes my bones!
Selfish, vain,
Eternal curse,
That ties free love with bondage."
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."
"Love doesn’t look to please itself,
Nor does it care only for itself,
But finds comfort in giving to others,
And creates a paradise in the midst of 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:
So sang a small clump of clay,
Stepped on by the cattle's feet,
But a pebble from the stream
Chirped out these perfect lines:
"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 only wants to please itself,
To tie someone else to its happiness,
Takes pleasure 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 something sacred to witness
In a wealthy and abundant land,—
Children brought to suffering,
Nourished by a cold and greedy 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!
Is that trembling cry a song?
Can it be a song of joy?
And so many poor children?
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.
And their son never shines,
And their fields are bleak and bare,
And their paths are filled with thorns:
It’s always 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.
For wherever the sun shines,
And wherever the rain falls,
Babies should never go hungry there,
Nor should poverty scare the mind.
THE LITTLE GIRL LOST
In futurity
I prophetic see
That the earth from sleep
(Grave the sentence deep)
In the future
I can see clearly
That the earth will wake up
(Take this warning seriously)
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 Will turn into a gentle garden.
In the southern clime,
Where the summer's prime
Never fades away,
Lovely Lyca lay.
In the southern region,
Where the peak of summer
Never fades away,
Beautiful Lyca rested.
Seven summers old
Lovely Lyca told.
She had wandered long,
Hearing wild birds' song.
Seven summers old
Lovely Lyca said.
She had wandered a long time,
Hearing wild birds sing.
"Sweet sleep, come to me
Underneath this tree;
Do father, mother, weep?
Where can Lyca sleep?
"Sweet sleep, come find me
Under this tree;
Do Mom and Dad cry?
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 cries?
"If her heart does ache,
Then let Lyca wake;
If my mother sleep,
Lyca shall not weep.
"If her heart hurts,
Then let Lyca wake;
If my mom sleeps,
Lyca won't cry.
"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 come up,
While I shut my eyes."
Sleeping Lyca lay
While the beasts of prey,
Come from caverns deep,
Viewed the maid asleep.
Sleeping Lyca lay
While the beasts of prey,
Came from deep caves,
Watched the girl asleep.
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
Across the sacred ground.
Leopards, tigers, play
Round her as she lay;
While the lion old
Bowed his mane of gold,
Leopards and tigers played
Around her as she rested;
While the old lion
Lowered his golden mane,
And her breast did lick
And upon her neck,
From his eyes of flame,
Ruby tears there came;
And her chest did touch
And on her neck,
From his fiery gaze,
Ruby tears emerged;
While the lioness
Loosed her slender dress,
And naked they conveyed
To caves the sleeping maid.
While the lioness
Took off her slim dress,
And bare 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 wander
Over deep valleys,
While the deserts mourn.
Tired and woe-begone,
Hoarse with making moan,
Arm in arm, seven days
They traced the desert ways.
Tired and downcast,
Hoarse from their cries,
Arm in arm, for seven days
They walked 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 deep shadows,
And dream they see their child
Starved in the wild desert.
Pale through pathless ways
The fancied image strays,
Famished, weeping, weak,
With hollow piteous shriek.
Pale through unmarked paths
The imagined figure wanders,
Starving, crying, exhausted,
With a hollow, tragic scream.
Rising from unrest,
The trembling woman pressed
With feet of weary woe;
She could no further go.
Rising from chaos,
The shaking woman pushed
With heavy, tired feet;
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, filled with deep sorrow;
Until they came across
A crouching lion on 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
Drooped 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 beside them.
They look upon his eyes,
Filled with deep surprise;
And wondering behold
A spirit armed in gold.
They stare into his eyes,
Filled with deep surprise;
And in wonder 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 was a crown,
His golden hair flowed down
Over his shoulders.
All their worries were gone.
"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 deep palace,
Lyca is asleep."
Then they followed
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,
And don’t fear the wolf's howl
Or 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.
A small black figure in the snow,
Crying "weep! weep!" in sorrowful tones!
"Where are your dad and mom? 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 was happy on the heath,
And smiled in the winter's snow,
They dressed me in the clothes of death,
And taught me to sing the notes 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 make up a heaven of our misery."
"And because I'm happy and dancing and singing,
They believe they haven't hurt me,
And have gone off to praise God and his priest and king,
Who create a heaven out of our suffering."
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.
When I hear children's voices on the green,
And whispers in the valley,
Memories of my youth come back to me,
My face goes 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 kids, the sun has set,
And the night dews are rising;
Your spring and your day are wasted on games,
And your winter and night are in disguise.
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 crimson joy,
And his dark secret love
Is ruining your life.
THE FLY
Little Fly,
Thy summer's play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away.
Little Fly,
Your summer game
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 man 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 a blind hand
Brushes 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 lack
Of thinking is death;
Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.
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!
I had a dream! What could it mean?
And I was a young Queen
Protected by a gentle Angel:
Clueless sadness 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 hid from him what brought me love and light.
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 showed up again;
I was ready, but he came for nothing;
Because the time of youth had passed,
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?
Tyger, tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could create your fearsome beauty?
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 does he dare to reach?
What hand would dare to grasp 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 strength and what skill
Could twist the muscles 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 clutch its deadly fears?
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 soaked heaven with their tears,
Did He smile at what He made?
Did He who created the lamb create you?
Tyger, tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
Tyger, tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame your 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.
A flower was given to me,
Such a flower as May never produced;
But I said "I've got a lovely rose bush,"
And I moved the sweet flower aside.
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 beautiful rose tree,
To care for her day and night;
But my rose turned away in jealousy,
And her thorns were my only joy.
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 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!
Where the young yearned with longing,
And the pale maiden wrapped in frost,
Rise from their graves, and aim
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 will tarnish her bright beauty.
THE GARDEN OF LOVE
I laid me down upon a bank,
Where Love lay sleeping;
I heard among the rushes dank
Weeping, weeping.
I laid down on a bank,
Where Love was sleeping;
I heard among the damp rushes
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.
Then I went to the heath and the wild,
To the thistles and thorns of the wasteland;
And they shared with me how they were deceived,
Forced out, and pushed into purity.
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 things I had never seen;
A Chapel was built in the middle,
Where I used to play on the grass.
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 making their rounds,
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;
The poor parsons with wind like a blown bladder swell.
Dear mom, dear mom, the church is cold;
But the pub is lively, inviting, and warm.
Plus, I know where I'm treated well;
The poor priests puff up like a blown-up balloon.
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 offer us some beer,
And a nice fire to warm our spirits here,
We'd sing and we'd pray all day long,
And never once want to leave where we belong.
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 the modest Dame Lurch, who's always at church,
Wouldn't have noisy kids, nor fasting, nor 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 kids as joyful and content as he,
Would have no more issues with the Devil or the barrel,
But would hug him, and give him both drinks and clothes.
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.
I strolled through every mapped-out street,
Close to where the Thames runs free,
There’s a sign of struggle in every face I greet,
Signs of weakness, signs of misery.
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 cry of every man,
In every baby's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every restriction,
The mental chains I hear:
How the chimney-sweeper's cry
Every blackening church appalls,
And the hapless soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down palace-walls.
How the chimney sweeper's cry
Every blackened church shocks,
And the unfortunate soldier's sigh
Flows 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.
But mostly, through midnight streets I hear
How the young prostitute's curse
Blasts the newborn baby's cry,
And taints with sickness 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.
Pity wouldn't exist anymore
If we didn't make anyone poor,
And Mercy couldn't be
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 sets a trap,
And carefully lays out its bait.
He sits down with his holy fears,
And waters the ground with tears;
Then Humility takes its root
Underneath his foot.
He sits down with his sacred fears,
And waters the ground with tears;
Then Humility takes root
Beneath his feet.
Soon spreads the dismal shade
Of Mystery over his head,
And the caterpillar and fly
Feed on the Mystery.
Soon the gloomy shadow
Of Mystery falls over him,
And the caterpillar and fly
Feast 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,
Bright red and sweet to eat,
And the raven has made his nest
In its densest 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 totally pointless:
There's one growing 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 groaned, my dad cried:
Into the risky world I jumped,
Vulnerable, bare, screaming loudly,
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 hands,
Trying to escape my swaddling clothes,
Tied up and tired, I figured it was best
To sulk on 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.
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 sunned it with smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And I watered it with my fears
Night and morning with my tears,
And I nourished it with smiles
And with gentle, deceptive tricks.
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 shining apple,
And my enemy saw it glow,
and he realized that it belonged to me,—
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 crept
When the night had covered the sky;
In the morning, happy, I see
My enemy lying under 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.
"Nobody loves another as they love themselves,
Nor honors another that way,
Nor is it possible to think
Of something greater 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 the priestly care.
The Priest sat nearby and listened to the child;
With passionate excitement, he grabbed his hair,
He pulled him along by his little coat,
And everyone admired the 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 this!" he said:
"Someone who makes reason the judge
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 went unheard,
The crying parents mourned in vain:
They took off his little shirt,
And shackled him 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 thing done on Albion's shore?
And burned him in a sacred place
Where many had been burned before;
The grieving parents cried in vain.
Is this really happening 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 past time
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 winter's chill,
Young people and maidens bright,
To the sacred light,
Bare in the sunny rays find joy.
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 gentle affection,
Met in a bright garden
Where the sacred light
Had just pulled back 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.
Then, in the morning light,
They played on the grass;
Parents were far away,
Strangers didn't come close,
And the girl quickly 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 the sky's deep,
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 holy text,
Made all her soft limbs tremble with fear.
"Ona, pale and weak,
To thy father speak!
Oh the trembling fear!
Oh the dismal care
That shakes the blossoms of my hoary hair!"
"Ona, pale and weak,
Talk to your father!
Oh, the trembling fear!
Oh, the gloomy worry
That shakes the blossoms of my gray 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!
I love to wake up on a summer morning,
When birds are singing in every tree;
The distant hunter blows his horn,
And the skylark sings along with me:
Oh, what a 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.
But to go to school on a summer morning,—
Oh, it takes all the joy away!
Under a tired, harsh gaze,
The little ones pass the day
In sighs and distress.
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 sometimes I sit feeling down,
And spend many anxious hours;
I can't find joy in my book,
Nor relax in the study's space,
Worn out 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 joy
Sit in a cage and sing?
How can a child, when fears bother,
Not just droop his tender wings,
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,—
Oh dad and mom, if the buds are frozen,
And blossoms blown away;
And if the delicate plants are robbed
Of their joy in the springtime day,
By sorrow and worry's gloom,—
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 joy,
Or the summer fruits show up?
Or how will we collect what sorrows erase,
Or celebrate the ripening year,
When the cold of winter arrives?
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.
Whatever is born of human birth
Must be consumed by the earth,
To rise from generation free:
So what do I have to do with you?
The sexes sprang from shame and pride,
Blown in the morning, in the evening died;
But mercy turned 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,
You, mother of my mortal side,
With cruelty shaped my heart,
And with misleading, self-deceiving tears
Closed 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 close my tongue in senseless clay,
And betray me to mortal life?
The death of Jesus set me free:
So what do I have to do with you?
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 dawning day,
The image of fresh Truth.
Doubt has vanished, and the shadows of reason,
Dark arguments and clever teasing.
Folly is a never-ending maze;
Tangled roots confuse her paths;
So many have gotten lost there!
They trip all night over the bones of the dead;
And sense—they don’t know what but care;
And want to guide others, when they should follow.
APPENDIX
A DIVINE IMAGE
Cruelty has a human heart,
And Jealousy a human face;
Terror the human form divine,
And Secresy the human dress.
Cruelty has a human heart,
And Jealousy a human face;
Terror the human form divine,
And Secrecy the human dress.
The human dress is forged iron,
The human form a fiery forge,
The human face a furnace sealed,
The human heart its hungry gorge.
The human body is solid iron,
The human shape a blazing forge,
The human face a closed furnace,
The human heart its hungry pit.
NOTE: Though written and engraved by Blake, "A DIVINE IMAGE" was
never included in the SONGS OF INNOCENCE AND OF EXPERIENCE.
NOTE: Although it was written and engraved by Blake, "A DIVINE IMAGE" was
never included in the SONGS OF INNOCENCE AND OF EXPERIENCE.
William Blake's
William Blake's
THE BOOK of THEL
The Book of Thel
THEL'S Motto
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?
Does the Eagle know what's in the pit?
Or will you go ask the Mole:
Can Wisdom be stored in a silver rod?
Or Love in a golden bowl?
THE BOOK of THEL
The Book of Thel
The Author & Printer Willm. Blake. 1780
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.
The daughters of Mne Seraphim guided their cheerful flocks,
Except for the youngest: she, in her paleness, searched for the hidden breeze.
To vanish like the beauty of morning from her earthly existence:
By the river of Adona, her soft voice can be heard;
And so her gentle sorrow drips down 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.
O life of our spring! Why does the lotus in the water fade?
Why do these children of spring fade away? Born only to smile and fall.
Ah! Thel is like a watery bow, like a parting cloud,
Like a reflection in glass: like shadows in the water
Like the dreams of infants, like a smile on an infant's face.
Like a dove's voice, like fleeting day, like music in the air:
Ah! May I gently lay down and rest my head softly.
And gently sleep the sleep of death, and softly hear the voice
Of the one who walks 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.
The lily of the valley breathing in the humble grass
Answered the lovely girl and said: I’m a watery weed,
And I’m very small and love to live in low valleys:
So weak that the gilded butterfly barely lands on my head
Yet I am visited from heaven, and he who smiles on all
Walks in the valley, and every morning over me spreads his hand
Saying, rejoice you humble grass, you new-born lily flower.
You gentle girl of silent valleys and of modest brooks:
For you will be clothed in light and fed with morning manna:
Until summer’s heat melts you beside the fountains and the springs
To thrive in eternal valleys: so why should Thel complain.
Why should the mistress of the valleys of Har, let out a sigh.
She ceasd & smild in tears, then sat down in her silver shrine.
She paused and smiled through 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.
Thel replied, O you little virgin of the peaceful valley.
Giving to those who cannot ask, the voiceless, the exhausted
The breath nourishes the innocent lamb; he smells the milky garments
He picks your flowers while you sit smiling in his face,
Wiping his gentle and meek mouth from all harmful taints.
Your wine purifies the golden honey; your perfume.
Which you scatter on every little blade of grass that sprouts
Revives the milked cow and tames the fire-breathing steed.
But Thel is like a faint cloud lit by the rising sun:
I vanish from my pearly throne, and who will 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.
Queen of the valleys, the Lily replied, ask the gentle cloud,
And it will explain why it sparkles in the morning sky.
And why it spreads its bright beauty through the humid air.
Come down, little cloud, and float in front of Thel's eyes.
The Cloud descended and the Lily bowd her modest head:
And went to mind her numerous charge among the verdant grass.
The Cloud came down and the Lily lowered her modest head:
And went to take care of her many responsibilities among the green 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.
O little Cloud, the virgin said, I order you to tell me
Why you’re complaining now when you’ll disappear in just one hour:
Then we’ll look for you but won’t find you: ah, Thel is just like you.
I fade 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.
The Cloud then showed his golden head and his bright form emerged.
Hovering and sparkling in the air before Thel's face.
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.
O virgin, don’t you know our horses drink from the golden springs
Where Luvah renews his horses? Look at my youth.
And are you scared because I disappear and am seen no more?
Nothing remains; O maid, I tell you, when I pass away.
It’s to a life ten times greater, to love, to peace, and holy raptures:
Unseen as I descend, I weigh my light wings on fragrant flowers:
And I invite the fair-eyed dew to take me to her shining tent
The weeping virgin, trembling, kneels before the risen sun.
Until we arise linked in a golden band and never part:
But walk together, bringing sustenance 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.
Do you, oh little cloud? I worry I’m not like you:
For I walk through the valleys of Har and smell the sweetest flowers:
But I don’t nourish the little flowers: I hear the singing birds,
But I don’t feed the singing birds; they fly off to find their food:
But Thel finds no more joy in these because I’m fading away
And everyone will say, this shining woman lived without purpose,
Or did she only live to be the food of worms in death?
The Cloud reclind upon his airy throne and answerd thus.
The Cloud reclined on his airy throne and answered this way.
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.
Then if you're food for worms, O virgin of the skies,
How great your purpose, how great your blessing, everything that lives.
Nothing lives alone or just for itself: don’t be afraid and I will call,
The weak worm from its humble bed, and you’ll hear its voice.
Come forth, worm, to the silent valley, to your thoughtful queen.
The helpless worm arose and sat upon the Lillys leaf,
And the bright Cloud saild on, to find his partner in the vale.
The helpless worm crawled up and sat on the lily's leaf,
And the bright cloud drifted on, looking for its partner in the valley.
III.
Then Thel astonish'd view'd the Worm upon its dewy bed.
Then Thel was astonished as she gazed at the Worm on 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.
Are you a Worm? An image of weakness, are you just a Worm?
I see you like a baby wrapped in a lily's leaf;
Oh, don't cry, little voice, you can't speak, but you can weep:
Is this a Worm? I see they lie helpless and naked, weeping
And there's no one to answer, no one to comfort you with a mother's 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;
The Clod of Clay heard the Worm's voice and raised her pitying head:
She leaned over the weeping infant, and her life faded
In milky affection, then on Thel she fixed 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,
O beauty of the valleys of Har, we don’t live just for ourselves,
You see me as the humblest thing, and that’s true:
My heart is naturally cold and naturally 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.
But the one who loves the humble pours oil on my head
And kisses me, wrapping his wedding vows around my heart.
And says, "You mother of my children, I have loved you
And I've given you a crown that no one can take away."
But how this is, sweet girl, I don't know, and I can't know
I think about it, and I can't figure it out; 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.
The daughter of beauty wiped her sympathetic tears with her white veil,
And said, Oh no! I didn’t know this, and that’s why I cried:
That God would love a worm I understood, and punish the evil foot
That intentionally crushed its helpless form: but that he cared for it
With milk and oil I never knew, and that’s why I cried,
And I complained in the gentle air, because I’m fading away.
And I’ll lie down in your cold bed, and leave my shining fate.
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.
Queen of the valleys, the matron Clay replied: I heard your sighs.
And all your moans passed over my roof, but I have brought them down:
Will you, O Queen, enter my house? It is yours to enter,
And to leave: fear nothing, come in with your pure 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.
The eternal gate's fearsome guard lifted the northern bar:
Thel entered in and saw the secrets of the unknown land;
She saw the resting places of the dead, and where the fibrous roots
Of every heart on earth dig deep their restless twists:
A land of sorrows and tears where no smile was ever 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.
She wandered through the cloudy land and dark valleys, listening
to pain and sadness: often waiting beside the dewy grave
She stood in silence, listening to the voices from the earth,
Until she reached her own grave plot, and there she sat down.
And heard this sorrowful voice coming 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 can’t the Ear shut itself off from its own ruin?
Or the shiny Eye from the toxic charm of a smile!
Why are Eyelids loaded with arrows drawn back,
Where a thousand soldiers lie in wait!
Or an Eye of gifts and talents showering blessings and 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?
Why a tongue filled with sweetness from every breeze?
Why an ear, a fierce whirlpool drawing creations in?
Why a wide nostril inhaling terror, shaking and afraid?
Why a gentle restraint on the passionate young boy?
Why a small 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.
The Virgin jumped up from her seat and, with a scream,
Ran back freely until she reached the valleys of Har.
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