THE CHILD AND THE PIPER

WILLIAM BLAKE.

IPING down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of pleasant glee,

On a cloud I saw a child,

And he, laughing, said to me,

"Pipe a song about a lamb.”

So I piped with merry cheer;

Piper, pipe that song again,"

So I piped, he wept to hear.

"Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe,

Sing thy songs of happy cheer." So I sang the same again,

While he wept with joy to hear.

Piper, sit thee down and write In a book that all may read.” So he vanish'd from my sight,

And I pluck'd a hollow reed,

And I made a rural pen,

And I stain'd the water clear, And I wrote my happy songs, Every child may joy to hear.

S

A CRADLE SONG

WILLIAM BLAKE

LEEP, sleep, beauty bright,

Dreaming in the joys of night;

Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep

Little sorrows sit and weep.

Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.

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.

Oh, the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep!

When thy little heart doth wake,
Then the dreadful light shall break.

A LAUGHING SONG

WILLIAM BLAKE

HEN the green woods laugh with the voice of joy,
And the dimpling stream runs laughing by ;

When the air does laugh with our merry wit,
And the green hill laughs with the noise of it;

When the meadows laugh with lively green,
And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene;
When Mary, and Susan, and Emily,

With their sweet round mouths sing, “Ha, ha, he!”

When the painted birds laugh in the shade,
Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread :
Come live, and be merry, and join with me
To sing the sweet chorus of "Ha, ha, he!”

THE ECHOING GREEN

WILLIAM BLAKE

HE sun does arise

THE

And make happy the skies;

The merry bells ring

To welcome the Spring;

The skylark and thrush,

The birds of the bush,
Sing louder around

To the bells' cheerful sound;
While our sports shall be seen
On the echoing green.

Old John, with white hair,
Does laugh away care,

Sitting under the oak,
Among the old folk.

They laugh at our play,
And soon they all say,

“Such, such were the joys

When we all girls and boys

In our youth-time were seen

On the echoing green."

Till the little ones, weary,

No more can be merry;
The sun does descend,

And our sports have an end.
Round the laps of their mothers
Many sisters and brothers,

Like birds in their nest,

Are ready for rest,

And sport no more seen
On the darkening green.