Songs of Innocence and Experience | Page 7

dream! What can it mean??And that I was a maiden Queen?Guarded by an Angel mild:?Witless woe was ne'er beguiled!
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.
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.
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.
THE TIGER
Tiger, tiger, 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??On what wings dare he aspire??What the hand dare seize 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?
What the hammer? what the chain??In what furnace was thy brain??What the anvil? what dread grasp?Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
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?
Tiger, tiger, burning bright?In the forests of the night,?What immortal hand or eye?Dare frame thy 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.
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.
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;
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!
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 GARDEN OF LOVE
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.
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 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.
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;?Such usage in heaven will never do well.
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.
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.
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.
LONDON
I wander through each chartered street,?Near where the chartered Thames does flow,?A 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-forged manacles I hear:
How the chimney-sweeper's cry?Every blackening church appals,?And the hapless soldier's sigh?Runs 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.
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.
And mutual fear brings Peace,?Till the selfish loves increase;?Then Cruelty knits a snare,?And spreads his baits with care.
He sits down with holy fears,?And waters the ground with tears;?Then Humility takes its root?Underneath his foot.
Soon spreads the dismal shade?Of Mystery over his head,?And the caterpillar and fly?Feed 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.
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.
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.
Struggling in my father's hands,?Striving against my swaddling bands,?Bound and weary, I thought best?To sulk upon 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.
And I watered it in