The Poetry and Prose of William Blake Edited by David V. Erdman: Commentary by Harold Bloom |
I. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
THE Chimney Sweeper |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
I. |
II. |
I. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
II. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
1. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
9. |
7. |
III. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
IV. |
3. |
6. |
8. |
9. |
11. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
XII. |
XIII. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
9. |
10. |
11. |
12. |
XV. |
The Poetry and Prose of William Blake | ||
THE Chimney Sweeper
A little black thing among the snow:
Crying weep, weep, in notes of woe!
Where are thy father & mother? say?
They are both gone up to the church to pray.
Crying weep, weep, in notes of woe!
Where are thy father & mother? say?
They are both gone up to the church to pray.
Because I was happy upon the heath,
And smil'd among the winters snow:
They clothed me in the clothes of death,
And taught me to sing the notes of woe.
And smil'd among the winters snow:
23
And taught me to sing the notes of woe.
And because I am happy, & dance & sing,
They think they have done me no injury:
And are gone to praise God & his Priest & King
Who make up a heaven of our misery.
They think they have done me no injury:
And are gone to praise God & his Priest & King
Who make up a heaven of our misery.
The Poetry and Prose of William Blake | ||