William Blake, Poet and Mystic

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Chapman & Hall, Limited, 1914 - 420 páginas

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Página 288 - Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he laughing said to me : — ' Pipe a song about a lamb : ' So I piped with merry cheer. ' Piper, pipe that song again : ' So I piped ; he wept to hear.
Página 372 - Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Thy soul's immensity; Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal Mind, — • Mighty Prophet! Seer blest! On whom those truths do rest Which we are toiling all our lives to find...
Página 251 - Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
Página 250 - 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?
Página 298 - 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.
Página 312 - AH! SUN-FLOWER Ah Sun-flower! weary of time, Who countest the steps of the Sun, Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveller's journey is done: Where the Youth pined away with desire, And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow, Arise from their graves and aspire Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.
Página 301 - Can a mother sit and hear An infant groan an infant fear? No, no never can it be, Never, never can it be. And can He who smiles on all Hear the wren with sorrows small, Hear the small bird's grief and care, Hear the woes that infants...
Página 245 - By love are driv'n away; And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave; Such end true lovers have. His face is fair as heav'n When springing buds unfold; O why to him was't giv'n Whose heart is wintry cold?
Página 155 - What is the price of Experience? do men buy it for a Song? Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the price Of all that a man hath, his house, his wife, his children. Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buy, And in the wither'd field where the farmer plows for bread in vain.
Página 311 - I wander thro' each charter'd street Near where the charter'd Thames does flow, And mark in every face I meet Marks of weakness, marks of woe. In every cry of every Man, In every Infant's cry of fear, In every voice, in every ban, The mind-forg'd manacles I hear: How the Chimney-sweeper's cry Every black'ning Church appalls, And the hapless Soldier's sigh Runs in blood down Palace walls; But most thro' midnight streets I hear How the youthful Harlot's curse Blasts the new born Infant's tear.

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