Poems of William Blake

And all must love the human form, In heathen, Turk, or Jew. Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell, There God is dwelling too. HOLY THURSDAY 'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean, Came children walking two and two, in read, and blue, and green: Grey-headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow, Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames waters flow. Oh what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town! Seated in companies they sit, with radiance all their own. The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs, Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands. Now like a mighty wild they raise to heaven the voice of song, Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among: Beneath them sit the aged man, wise guardians of the poor. Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door. NIGHT The sun descending in the west, The evening star does shine; The birds are silent in their nest, And I must seek for mine. The moon, like a flower In heaven's high bower, With silent delight, Sits and smiles on the night. Farewell, green fields and happy grove, Where flocks have ta'en delight. Where lambs have nibbled, silent move The feet of angels bright; Unseen they pour blessing, And joy without ceasing, On each bud and blossom, And each sleeping bosom. They look in every thoughtless nest Where birds are covered warm; They visit caves of every beast, To keep them all from harm: If they see any weeping That should have been sleeping, They pour sleep on their head, And sit down by their bed. When wolves and tigers howl for prey, They pitying stand and weep; Seeking to drive their thirst away, And keep them from the sheep. But, if they rush dreadful, The angels, most heedful, Receive each mild spirit, New worlds to inherit. And there the lion's ruddy eyes Shall flow with tears of gold: And pitying the tender cries, And walking round the fold: Saying: "Wrath by His meekness, And, by His health, sickness, Are driven away From our immortal day. "And now beside thee, bleating lamb, I can lie down and sleep, Or think on Him who bore thy name, Graze after thee, and weep. For, washed in life's river, My bright mane for ever Shall shine like the gold, As I guard o'er the fold." SPRING Sound the flute! Now it's mute! Bird's delight, Day and night, Nightingale, In the dale, Lark in sky,-- Merrily, Merrily merrily, to welcome in the year. Little boy, Full of joy; Little girl, Sweet and small; Cock does crow, So do you; Merry voice, Infant noise; Merrily, merrily, to welcome in the year. Little lamb, Here I am; Come and lick My white neck; Let me pull Your soft wool; Let me kiss Your soft face; Merrily, merrily, to welcome in the year. NURSE'S SONG When the voices of children are heard on the green, And laughing is heard on the hill, My heart is at rest within my breast, And everything else is still. "Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down, And the dews of night arise; Come, come, leave off play, and let us away, Till the morning appears in the skies." "No, no, let us play, for it is yet day, And we cannot go to sleep; Besides, in the sky the little birds fly, And the hills are all covered with sheep." "Well, well, go and play till the light fades away, And then go home to bed." The little ones leaped, and shouted, and laughed, And all the hills echoed. INFANT JOY "I have no name; I am but two days old." What shall I call thee? "I happy am, Joy is my name." Sweet joy befall thee! Pretty joy! Sweet joy, but two days old. Sweet Joy I call thee: Thou dost smile, I sing the while; Sweet joy befall thee! A DREAM Once a dream did weave a shade O'er my angel-guarded bed, That an emmet lost its way Where on grass methought I lay. Troubled, wildered, and forlorn, Dark, benighted, travel-worn, Over many a tangle spray, All heart-broke, I heard her say: "Oh my children! do they cry, Do they hear their father sigh? Now they look abroad to see, Now return and weep for me." Pitying, I dropped a tear: But I saw a glow-worm near, Who replied, "What wailing wight Calls the watchman of the night? "I am set to light the ground, While the beetle goes his round: Follow now the beetle's hum; Little wanderer, hie thee home!" ON ANOTHER'S SORROW Can I see another's woe, And not be in sorrow too? Can I see another's grief, And not seek for kind relief? Can I see a falling tear, And not feel my sorrow's share? Can a father see his child Weep, nor be with sorrow filled? Can a mother sit and hear An infant groan, an infant fear? No, no! never can it be! Never, never can it be! And can He who smiles on all Hear the wren with sorrows small, Hear the small bird's grief and care, Hear the woes that infants bear-- And not sit beside the next, Pouring pity in their breast, And not sit the cradle near, Weeping tear on infant's tear? And not sit both night and day, Wiping all our tears away? Oh no! never can it be! Never, never can it be! He doth give his joy to all: He becomes an infant small, He becomes a man of woe, He doth feel the sorrow too. Think not thou canst sigh a sigh, And thy Maker is not by: Think not thou canst weep a tear, And thy Maker is not near. Oh He gives to us his joy, That our grief He may destroy: Till our grief is fled an gone He doth sit by us and moan. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE INTRODUCTION