Poems of William Blake | Page 6

grass they play;?Parents were afar,?Strangers came not near,?And the maiden 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.
To her father white?Came the maiden bright;?But his loving look,?Like the holy book?All her tender limbs with terror shook.
"Ona, pale and weak,?To thy father speak!?Oh the trembling fear!?Oh the dismal care?That shakes the blossoms of my hoary 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!
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.
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.
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?
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, --
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?
TO TERZAH
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.
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,
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?
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.
APPENDIX
A DIVINE IMAGE
Cruelty has a human heart,?And Jealousy a human face;?Terror the human form divine,?And Secresy 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.
NOTE: Though written and engraved by Blake, "A DIVINE IMAGE" was never included in the SONGS OF INNOCENCE AND OF EXPERIENCE.
William Blake's
THE BOOK of THEL
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?
THE BOOK of THEL
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.
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.
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.
She ceasd & smild in 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