The Poetry and Prose of William Blake Edited by David V. Erdman: Commentary by Harold Bloom |
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 | The Poetry and Prose of William Blake |  |
[Written in a copy of Poetical Sketches]
SONG 1st BY A SHEPHERD
Welcome, stranger, to this place,
Where joy doth sit on every bough,
Paleness flies from every face;
We reap not what we do not sow.
Where joy doth sit on every bough,
Paleness flies from every face;
We reap not what we do not sow.
Innocence doth like a rose
Bloom on every maiden's cheek;
Honour twines around her brows,
The jewel health adorns her neck.
Bloom on every maiden's cheek;
Honour twines around her brows,
The jewel health adorns her neck.
SONG BY AN OLD SHEPHERD
When silver snow decks Sylvio's clothes
And jewel hangs at shepherd's nose,
We can abide life's pelting storm
That makes our limbs quake, if our hearts be warm.
And jewel hangs at shepherd's nose,
We can abide life's pelting storm
That makes our limbs quake, if our hearts be warm.
Whilst Virtue is our walking-staff
And Truth a lantern to our path,
We can abide life's pelting storm
That makes our limbs quake, if our hearts be warm.
And Truth a lantern to our path,
We can abide life's pelting storm
That makes our limbs quake, if our hearts be warm.
Blow, boisterous wind, stern winter frown,
Innocence is a winter's gown;
So clad, we'll abide life's pelting storm
That makes our limbs quake, if our hearts be warm.
Innocence is a winter's gown;
So clad, we'll abide life's pelting storm
That makes our limbs quake, if our hearts be warm.
458
[From Blake's Notebook]
[Never pain to tell thy love]
Never pain to tell thy love
Love that never told can be
For the gentle wind does move
Silently invisibly
Love that never told can be
For the gentle wind does move
Silently invisibly
I told my love I told my love
I told her all my heart
Trembling cold in ghastly fears
Ah she doth depart
I told her all my heart
Trembling cold in ghastly fears
Ah she doth depart
Soon as she was gone from me
A traveller came by
Silently invisibly
O was no deny
A traveller came by
Silently invisibly
O was no deny
[I feard the fury of my wind]
I feard the fury of my wind
Would blight all blossoms fair & true
And my sun it shind & shind
And my wind it never blew
Would blight all blossoms fair & true
And my sun it shind & shind
And my wind it never blew
But a blossom fair or true
Was not found on any tree
For all blossoms grew & grew
Fruitless false tho fair to see
Was not found on any tree
For all blossoms grew & grew
Fruitless false tho fair to see
[I saw a chapel all of gold]
I saw a chapel all of gold
That none did dare to enter in
And many weeping stood without
Weeping mourning worshipping
That none did dare to enter in
And many weeping stood without
Weeping mourning worshipping
I saw a serpent rise between
The white pillars of the door
And he forcd & forcd & forcd
Down the golden hinges tore
The white pillars of the door
And he forcd & forcd & forcd
Down the golden hinges tore
And along the pavement sweet
Set with pearls & rubies bright
All his slimy length he drew
Till upon the altar white
Set with pearls & rubies bright
All his slimy length he drew
Till upon the altar white
Vomiting his poison out
On the bread & on the wine
So I turnd into a sty
And laid me down among the swine
On the bread & on the wine
So I turnd into a sty
And laid me down among the swine
459
[I laid me down upon a bank]
I laid me down upon a bank
Where love lay sleeping
I heard among the rushes dank
Weeping Weeping
Where love lay sleeping
I heard among the rushes dank
Weeping Weeping
Then I went to the heath & the wild
To the thistles & thorns of the waste
And they told me how they were beguild
Driven out & compeld to be chaste
To the thistles & thorns of the waste
And they told me how they were beguild
Driven out & compeld to be chaste
A cradle song
Sleep Sleep beauty bright
Dreaming oer the joys of night
Sleep Sleep: in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit & weep
Dreaming oer the joys of night
Sleep Sleep: in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit & weep
Sweet Babe in thy face
Soft desires I can trace
Secret joys & secret smiles
Little pretty infant wiles
Soft desires I can trace
Secret joys & secret smiles
Little pretty infant wiles
As thy softest limbs I feel
Smiles as of the morning steal
Oer thy cheek & oer thy breast
Where thy little heart does rest
Smiles as of the morning steal
Oer thy cheek & oer thy breast
Where thy little heart does rest
O the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep
When thy little heart does wake
Then the dreadful lightnings break
In thy little heart asleep
When thy little heart does wake
Then the dreadful lightnings break
From thy cheek & from thy eye
Oer the youthful harvests nigh
Infant wiles & infant smiles
Heaven & Earth of peace beguiles
Oer the youthful harvests nigh
Infant wiles & infant smiles
Heaven & Earth of peace beguiles
[I askéd a thief to steal me a peach]
I askéd a thief to steal me a peach
He turned up his eyes
I ask'd a lithe lady to lie her down
Holy & meek she cries—
He turned up his eyes
I ask'd a lithe lady to lie her down
Holy & meek she cries—
As soon as I went
An angel came.
He wink'd at the thief
And smild at the dame—
An angel came.
He wink'd at the thief
And smild at the dame—
460
And without one word said
Had a peach from the tree
And still as a maid
Enjoy'd the lady.
Had a peach from the tree
And still as a maid
Enjoy'd the lady.
in a mirtle shade
Why should I be bound to thee
O my lovely mirtle tree
Love free love cannot be bound
To any tree that grows on ground
O my lovely mirtle tree
Love free love cannot be bound
To any tree that grows on ground
O how sick & weary I
Underneath my mirtle lie
Like to dung upon the ground
Underneath my mirtle bound
Underneath my mirtle lie
Like to dung upon the ground
Underneath my mirtle bound
Oft my mirtle sighd in vain
To behold my heavy chain
Oft my father saw us sigh
And laughd at our simplicity
To behold my heavy chain
Oft my father saw us sigh
And laughd at our simplicity
So I smote him & his gore
Staind the roots my mirtle bore
But the time of youth is fled
And grey hairs are on my head
Staind the roots my mirtle bore
But the time of youth is fled
And grey hairs are on my head
To my Mirtle
To a lovely mirtle boundBlossoms showring all around
O how sick & weary I
Underneath my mirtle lie
Why should I be bound to thee
O my lovely mirtle tree
| The Poetry and Prose of William Blake | |