blake_poems.pdf

William Blake

S ONGS OF I NNOCENCE

( 1 7 8 9 )

Introduction

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 a merry chear.

``Piper, pipe that song again;''

So I piped: he wept to hear.

``Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;

Sing thy songs of happy chear:''

So I sung 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.

The Lamb

Little Lamb, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee?

Gave thee life, & bid thee feed

By the stream & o'er the mead;

Gave thee clothing of delight,

Softest clothing, wooly, bright;

Gave thee such a tender voice,

Making all the vales rejoice?

Little Lamb, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee?

Little Lamb, I'll tell thee,

He is called by thy name,

For he calls himself a Lamb.

William Blake

He is meek, & he is mild;

He became a little child.

I a child, & thou a lamb,

We are called by his name.

Little Lamb, God bless thee!

The Chimney Sweeper

When my mother died I was very young,

And my father sold me while yet my tongue

Could scarcely cry ``'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!''

So your chimneys I sweep, & in soot I sleep.

There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head,

That curl'd like a lamb's back, was shav'd: so I said

``Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when you head's bare

You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair.''

And so he was quiet, & that very night,

As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight!

That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, & Jack,

Were all of them lock'd up in coffins of black.

And by came an Angel who had a bright key,

And he open'd the coffins & set them free;

Then down a green plain leaping, laughing, they run,

And wash in a river, and shine in the Sun.

Then naked & white, all their bags left behind,

They rise upon clouds and sport in the wind;

And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,

He'd have God for his father, & never want joy.

And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark,

And got with our bags & our brushes to work,

Tho the morning was cold, Tom was happy & warm,

So if all do their duty they need not fear harm.

Divine Image

To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,

All pray in their distress,

And to these virtues of delight

Return their thankfulness.

For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,

William Blake

Is God our Father dear;

And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,

Is man, his child and care.

For Mercy has a human heart

Pity, a human face;

And Love, the human form divine;

And Peace, the human dress.

Then every man, of every clime,

That prays in his distress,

Prays to the human form divine:

Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.

And all must love the human form,

In heathen, Turk, or Jew.

Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell,

There God is dwelling too.

William Blake

S ONGS OF E XPERIENCE

( 1 7 9 4 )

Introduction

Hear the voice of the Bard!

Who Present, Past, & Future sees;

Whose ears have heard

The Holy Word

That walk'd among the ancient trees,

Calling the lapsed Soul,

And weeping in the evening dew;

That might controll

The starry pole,

And fallen, fallen light renew!

``O Earth, O Earth, return!

Arise from out the dewy grass;

Night is worn,

And the morn

Rises from the slumberous mass.

``Turn away no more;

Why wilt thou turn away?

The starry floor,

The wat'ry shore,

Is giv'n thee till the break of day.''

The Tyger

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?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand dare sieze the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?

In what furnace was thy brain?

William Blake

What the anvil? what dread grasp

Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,

And water'd heaven with their tears,

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

The Chimney Sweeper

A little black thing in the snow,

Crying "weep! weep!" in notes of woe!

"Where are thy father and mother? Say!"--

"They are both gone up to the church to pray.

"Because I was happy upon the heath,

And smiled among the winter's snow,

They clothed me in the clothes of death,

And taught me to sing the notes of woe.

"And because I am happy and dance and sing,

They think they have done me no injury,

And are gone to praise God and his priest and king,

Who make up a heaven of our misery."

The Divine Image

Cruelty has a Human Heart,

And Jealousy a Human Face;

Terror the Human Form Divine,

And Secrecy the Human Dress.

The Human Dress is forged Iron,

The Human Form a fiery Forge,

The Human Face a Furnace seal'd,

The Human Heart is hungry Gorge.

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