William Blake

I wandered 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 appalls, 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.

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.

O little Cloud the virgin said, I charge thee to tell me Why thou complainest now when in one hour thou fade away: Then we shall seek thee but not find: ah Thel is like to thee. I pass away, yet I complain, and no one hears my voice.

The Cloud then shewd his golden head & his bright form emerg'd. Hovering and glittering on the air before the face of Thel.

O virgin know'st thou not our steeds drink of the golden springs Where Luvah doth renew his horses: lookst thou on my youth. And fearest thou because I vanish and am seen no more. Nothing remains; O maid I tell thee, when I pass away. It is to tenfold life, to love, to peace, and raptures holy: Unseen descending, weigh my light wings upon balmy flowers: And court the fair eyed dew, to take me to her shining tent The weeping virgin, trembling kneels before the risen sun. Till we arise link'd in a golden band and never part: But walk united bearing food to all our tender flowers.

Dost thou O little cloud? I fear that I am not like thee: For I walk through the vales of Har, and smell the sweetest flowers: But I feed not the little flowers: I hear the warbling birds, But I feed not the warbling birds, they fly and seek their food: But Thel delights in these no more because I fade away And all shall say, without a use this shining women liv'd, Or did she only live to be at death the food of worms.

The Cloud reclind upon his airy throne and answerd thus.

Then if thou art the food of worms, O virgin of the skies, How great thy use, how great thy blessing, every thing that lives. Lives not alone nor or itself: fear not and I will call, The weak worm from its lowly bed, and thou shalt hear its voice. Come forth worm and the silent valley, to thy pensive queen.

The helpless worm arose and sat upon the Lillys leaf, And the bright Cloud saild on, to find his partner in the vale.

'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.

O rose, thou art sick! The invisible worm, That flies in the night, In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy, And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy.

Youth of delight! come hither And see the opening morn, Image of Truth new-born. Doubt is fled, and clouds of reason, Dark disputes and artful teazing. Folly is an endless maze; Tangled roots perplex her ways; How many have fallen there! They stumble all night over bones of the dead; And feel--they know not what but care; And wish to lead others, when they should be led.

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 his 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.

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 fears Night and morning with my tears, And I sunned it with smiles And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night, Till it bore an apple bright, And my foe beheld it shine, and he knew that it was mine,--

And into my garden stole When the night had veiled the pole; In the morning, glad, I see My foe outstretched beneath the tree.