Poems
are not_ mine. _No! they are_ not _mine!’ He expressed himself happy,
hoping for salvation through Jesus Christ.... He burst out into singing
of the things he saw in Heaven.” “He made the rafters ring,” says the
Irvingite minister Tatham, he who burnt a hundred volumes of his works.
It should be added that Blake had thought of burning these manuscripts
with his own hand._
_We must not close with the light of fire and burning. It was another
light that Blake kindled in England. The light of our great poetry, that
was clear and white in the sixteenth century, golden and ripe in the
seventeenth, extinct in the chief part of the eighteenth, rose again
upon the cloud and peak of Blake, before it made the valley, also,
illustrious with Wordsworth._
_ALICE MEYNELL._
Contents
SECTION I
Page
To Spring 3
To Summer 5
To Autumn 7
To Winter 9
To the Evening Star 11
To Morning 12
Song 13
Song 14
Song 15
Mad Song 16
Song 18
To the Muses 20
Blind-Man’s Buff 21
King Edward the Third 24
SECTION II
SONGS OF INNOCENCE
Introduction 69
The Shepherd 70
The Echoing Green 71
The Lamb 73
The Little Black Boy 74
The Happy Blossom 76
The Chimney Sweeper 77
The Little Boy Lost 79
The Little Boy Found 80
Laughing Song 81
A Cradle Song 82
The Divine Image 84
Holy Thursday 85
Night 86
Spring 88
Nurse’s Song 90
Infant Joy 91
A Dream 92
Another’s Sorrow 93
SECTION III
SONGS OF EXPERIENCE
Introduction 97
The Clod and the Pebble 98
Holy Thursday 99
The Little Girl Lost 100
The Little Girl Found 103
Nurse’s Song 106
The Sick Rose 107
The Fly 108
The Angel 109
The Tiger 110
My Rose Tree 112
The Sunflower 113
The Lily 114
London 115
The Human Abstract 116
Infant Sorrow 118
Wrath 119
A Divine Image 120
A Cradle Song 121
The Schoolboy 122
To Tirzah 124
The Voice of the Ancient Bard 125
SECTION IV
Daybreak 129
The Wild Flower’s Song 130
The Birds 131
The Land of Dreams 133
To Mr. Butts 135
To Mrs. Butts 138
To My Dear Friend, Mrs. Anna Flaxman 139
The Keys of the Gates of Paradise 141
Night and Day 143
Auguries of Innocence 144
The Two Songs 149
The Throne of Mammon 150
The World 152
Smile and Frown 153
My Spectre 154
The Defiled Sanctuary 157
Barren Blossom 158
Opportunity 159
Love’s Secret 160
Fragment for “Jerusalem” 161
Cupid 163
The Golden Net 164
The Cabinet 166
William Bond 168
Los 171
Dedication of the Designs to Blair’s “Grave” 175
For a Picture of the Last Judgment 177
Scoffers 178
Fragments and Epigrams 179
SECTION V.—EXTRACTS FROM THE PROPHETICAL BOOKS
From “Jerusalem” 183
Tiriel 189
The Book of Thel 216
Section I
To Spring
O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down
Through the clear windows of the morning, turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!
The hills tell each other, and the listening
Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned
Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth,
And let thy holy feet visit our clime!
Come o’er the eastern hills, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
Upon our lovesick land that mourns for thee.
O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put
Thy golden crown upon her languished head,
Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee!
To Summer
O thou who passest through our valleys in
Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat
That flames from their large nostrils! Thou, O Summer,
Oft pitchedst here thy golden tent, and oft
Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld
With joy thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.
Beneath our thickest shades we oft have heard
Thy voice, when Noon upon his fervid car
Rode o’er the deep of heaven. Beside our springs
Sit down, and in our mossy valleys, on
Some bank beside a river clear, throw thy
Silk draperies off, and rush into the stream!
Our valleys love the Summer in his pride.
Our bards are famed who strike the silver wire:
Our youth are bolder than the southern swains,
Our maidens fairer in the sprightly dance.
We lack not songs, nor instruments of joy,
Nor echoes sweet, nor waters clear as heaven,
Nor laurel wreaths against the sultry heat.
To Autumn
O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou mayst rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.
“The narrow bud opens her beauties to
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and
Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,
Till clustering Summer breaks forth into singing,
And feathered clouds strew flowers round her head.
“The Spirits of the Air live on the smells
Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round
The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.”
Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat;
Then rose, girded himself, and o’er the bleak
Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.
To Winter
O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors:
The North is thine; there hast thou built thy dark
Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs,
Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.
He hears me not, but o’er the yawning deep
Rides heavy; his storms are unchained, sheathed
In ribbed steel; I dare not lift mine eyes;
For he hath reared his sceptre o’er the world.
Lo! now the direful monster, whose skin clings
To his strong bones, strides o’er the groaning rocks:
He withers all in silence, and in his hand
Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life.
He takes his seat upon the cliffs,—the mariner
Cries in vain. Poor little wretch, that deal’st
With storms!—till heaven smiles, and the monster
Is driv’n yelling to his caves beneath Mount Hecla.
To the Evening Star
Thou fair-haired Angel of the Evening,
Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light
Thy bright torch of love: thy radiant crown
Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!
Smile on our loves; and, while thou drawest the
Blue curtains of the sky, scatter thy silver dew
On every flower that shuts its sweet eyes
In timely sleep. Let thy west wind sleep on
The lake; speak silence with thy glimmering eyes,
And wash the dusk with silver.—Soon, full soon,
Dost thou withdraw; then the wolf rages wide,
And the lion glares through the dun forest.
The fleeces of our flocks are covered with
Thy sacred dew: protect them with thine
influence!
To Morning
O holy virgin, clad in purest white,
Unlock heaven’s golden gates, and issue forth;
Awake the dawn that sleeps in heaven; let light
Rise from the chambers of the east, and bring
The honeyed dew that cometh on waking day.
O radiant Morning, salute the Sun,
Roused like a huntsman to the chase, and with