 Chapter 1-19 of Songs of Innocence by William Blake. Piping down the valley's 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 merry cheer. Piper piped that song again, so I piped, he wept to hear. Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe, sing thy songs of happy cheer. So I sang 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 vanished from my sight, and I plucked a hollow reed. And I made a rural pen, and I stained the water clear, And I wrote my happy songs, every child made joy to hear. Chapter 2- The Shepherd How sweet is the shepherd's sweet lot, From the morn to the evening he stays. He shall follow his sheep all the day, And his tongue shall be filled with praise. For he hears the lamb's innocent call, And he hears the youth's tender reply. She is watching while they are in peace, For they know when their shepherd is nigh. Chapter 3- The Echoing Green The sun does arise, and make happy the skies, The merry bells ring to welcome the spring, The sky lurk in thrush, the birds of the bush Sing louder around to the bell's cheerful sound, while our sports shall be seen on the Echoing Green. Old John with white hair does laugh away care, Sitting under the oak among the old folk. They laugh at our play, and soon they all say, Such were the joys when we all, girls and boys, In our youth time were seen on the Echoing Green. While the little ones weary, no more can be merry. The sun does descend, and our sports have an end, Around the laps of their mothers. Many sisters and brothers, like birds in their nest, Are ready for rest, and sport no more Seen on the darkening green. Chapter 4- The Lamb Little Lamb, who made thee? Does thou know who made thee? Gave thee life, and bid thee feed, By the stream, and o'er the mead? Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing woolly bright? Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the veils rejoice? Little Lamb, who made thee? Does thou know who made thee? Little Lamb, I'll tell thee, Little Lamb, I'll tell thee. He is called by thy name, For he calls himself a Lamb. He is meek, and he is mild, He became a little child. I a child, and thou a Lamb, We are called by his name. Little Lamb, God bless thee, Little Lamb, God bless thee. Chapter 5- The Little Black Boy My mother bore me in the southern wild, And I am black, but oh, my soul is white. White as an angel is the English child, But I am black, as if bereaved of light. My mother taught me underneath a tree, And sitting down before the heat of day. She took me on her lap, and kissed me, And pointed to the east, began to say, Look on the rising sun, There God does live, And gives his light, and gives his heat away, And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive, Comfort in mourning, joy in the noon day. And we are put on earth a little space, That we may learn to bear the beams of love, And these black bodies, and this sun-bird face, Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove. For when our souls have learned the heat to bear, The cloud will vanish, we shall hear his voice, Saying, Come out from the grove, My love in care, and round my golden tent, Like Lamb's rejoice. Thus did my mother say, and kissed me, And thus I say to Little English Boy, One eye from black, and he from white cloud free, And round the tent of God, like Lamb's, we joy. I'll shade him from the heat, till he can bear, To lean and joy upon our father's knee, And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair, And be like him, and he will then love me. End of Chapter 6 The Blossom Mary, Mary Sparrow, Underleaves so green, A happy blossom sees you, Swift as arrow, Seek your cradle narrow, near my bosom. Pretty, pretty robin, Underleaves so green, A happy blossom hears you sobbing, Sobbing, Pretty, pretty robin, near my bosom. Chapter 7 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, And in soot I sleep. There's little Tom Daker, who cried when his head, That curled like a lamb's back, Was shaved. So I said, Hush, Tom, never mind it, For when your heads bear, You know that the soot Cannot spoil your white hair. And so he was quiet in that very night, As Tom was asleep he had such a sight, That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack, Were all of them locked up in coffins of black, And by came an angel who had a bright key, And he opened the coffins, And let them all free. Then down a green plain, Leaping, laughing they run, And wash in a river, And shine in the sun. Then naked and 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 gone for his father, And never want joy. And so Tom awoke, And we rose in the dark, And got with our bags and our brushes to work, Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm. So if all do their duty, They need not fear harm. CHAPTER VIII THE LITTLE BOY LOST FATHER, FATHER, WHERE ARE YOU GOING? DO NOT WALK SO FAST, SPEAK FATHER, SPEAK TO YOUR LITTLE BOY, OR ELSE I SHALL BE LOST. The night was dark, no father was there, The child was wet with dew, The mire was deep, and the child did weep, And away the vapor flew. CHAPTER IX THE LITTLE BOY FOUND The little boy lost in the lonely fenn, Led by the wandering light, Began to cry, but God, ever nigh, Appeared like his father in white. He kissed the child, and by the hand led, And to his mother brought, Who in sorrow pale, through the lonely dale, The little boy weeping, saunt. CHAPTER X Laffing Song When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy, And the dimpling stream runs laughing by, When the air does laugh with our merry wit, And the green hill laughs with the noise of it, When the meadows laugh with lively green, And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene, When Mary and Susan and Emily, With their sweet round-mouthed sing, Ha, ha, he. When the painted birds laugh in the shade, Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread, Come live, and be merry, And join with me, To sing the sweet chorus of, Ha, ha, he. CHAPTER X CHAPTER XI A SONG Sweet dreams form a shade o'er my lovely infant's head, Sweet dreams of pleasant streams by happy, Silent moony beams. Sweet sleep with soft down, Weave thy brows in infant crown, Sweet sleep angel mild, Hover o'er my happy child. Sweet smiles in the night hover over my delight, Sweet smiles, mother's smile, All the live-long night beguile. Sweet moans, dove-like sighs, Chase not slumber from thine eyes. Sweet moans, sweeter smile, All the dove-like moans beguile. Sleep, sleep, happy child, All creation slept and smiled. Sleep, sleep, happy sleep, While o'er thee, doth mother weep. Sweet babe, in thy face Holy image I can trace. Sweet babe, once like thee Thy maker lay, And wept for me. Wept for me, for thee, for all, When he was an infant small, Thou his image ever see, Heavenly face that smiles on thee. On thee, on me, on all, Who became an infant small, Infant smiles are his own smiles, Heaven and earth, to peace beguiles. End of CHAPTER XI. CHAPTER XII. 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 Is God our Father, dear. And mercy, pity, peace and love Is man his child in 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 climb That prays in his distress, Praise 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 Their God is dwelling too. End of CHAPTER XII. CHAPTER XIII. HOLY THURSDAY. To as on a holy Thursday their innocent faces clean, Same children walking two and two in red and blue and green. Gray-headed beetles walked before, With wands as white as snow, Till into the high dome of pawls They like the 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. And of little boys and girls Raising their innocent hands. Now like a mighty wind 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, Blessed you drive an angel from your door. CHAPTER XIV. 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 tatened 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, bleeding lamb, I can lie down in 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. CHAPTER XV SPRING Sound the flute! Now it's mute! Bird's delight! Day and night! Nightingale! And the dale! Lark in sky, merrily, Merrily, merrily, To welcome in the year! Oh, 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! CHAPTER XVI 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 has gone down, And the do's 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. CHAPTER XVII Infant Joy I have no name, I am but two days old, Which 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. CHAPTER XVIII A DREAM Once a dream did weave a shade Or my angel-guarded bed, That an emet lost its way, Where on grass me thought 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 sea, Now return and weep for me. Pitying, I dropped a tear. But I saw a glow-worm near, Who replied, What wailing white 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, High thee home. CHAPTER XIX 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 in here, 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 sorrow small? Hear the small birds' 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 year. Oh, he gives to us his joy, That our grief he may destroy, Till our grief is fled and gone, He doth sit by us and moan. CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION Hear the voice of the bard, Who present, past, and future sees, Whose ears have heard the holy word That walked among the ancient tree. Calling the lapsed soul, And weeping in the evening dew, That might control the starry pole, And fallen, fallen light renew. O earth, O earth, return, Arise from out the dewy grass. Night is worn, and the mourn Rises from the slumberous mass. Turn away no more. Why wilt thou turn away? The starry floor, the watery shore, Are given thee till the break of day. End of CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 EARTH'S ANSWER Earth raised up her head From the darkness dread and drear, Her light fled, stony, dread, And her locks covered with gray despair. But on watery shore Starry jealousy does keep my den cold and whore, Weeping o'er I hear the father of the ancient men. Selfish father of men, Cruel, jealous, selfish fear, Can delight, chained in night The virgins of youth and morning bearer? Does spring hide its joy When buds and blossoms grow? Does the sower so by night Or the plowman in darkness plow? Break this heavy chain That does freeze my bones around. Selfish, vain, eternal bane That free love with bondage bound. End of CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 3 THE CLAWD AND THE PEBBLE Love seeketh not itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care, But for another gives it ease, And builds a heaven in hell's despair. So saying a little clot of clay Trotten with the cattle's feet, But a pebble of the brook Warbled out these meter's meat. Love seeketh only self to please, To bind another to its delight, Joys in another's loss of ease, And builds a hell in heaven's despite. End of CHAPTER 4 HOLY THURSDAY Is this a holy thing to see, In a rich and fruitful land, Babes reduced to misery, Fed with cold and usurous hand? Is that trembling cry a song? Can it be a song of joy? And so many children pour, It is a land of poverty, And their sun does never shine, And their fields are bleak and bare, And their ways are filled with thorns, It is eternal winter there. For where air the sun does shine, And where air the rain does fall, Babes should never hunger there, Nor poverty the mind appalled. End of CHAPTER 5 THE LITTLE GIRL LOST In futurity I prophetic see, That the earth from sleep Grape the sentence deep, She'll arise and seek, For her maker meek, And the desert wild, Become a garden mild. In the southern climb, Where the summer's prime Never fades away, Lovely like a lay. Seven summers old, Lovely like a told, She had wandered long, Hearing wild birds song. Sweet sleep, come to me Underneath this tree. You father, mother, weep, Where can Lyca sleep? Lost in desert wild Is your little child, How can Lyca sleep if her mother weep? If her heart does ache, Then let Lyca wake, If my mother's sleep Lyca shall not weep. Frowning, frowning night, Or this desert bright Let thy moon arise While I close my eyes, Everything like a lay, While the beasts of prey Come from caverns deep, Viewed the maid asleep. The kingly lion stood, And the virgin viewed, Then he gambled round Or the hallowed ground. Leopards, tigers, play Round her as she lay, While the lion old Bout his mane of gold, And her breast did lick, And upon her neck, From his eyes aflame Ruby tears there came, While the lioness Loosed her slender dress, And naked they conveyed To caves the sleeping maid. CHAPTER VI. THE LITTLE GIRL FOUND. All the night in woe, Lyca's parents go, Over valleys deep, While the deserts weep. And woe be gone, Horse with making moan, Arm in arm seven days They traced the desert ways. Seven nights they sleep Among shadows deep, And dream they see Their child starved in desert wild. Pale through pathless ways The fancied image strays, Famished, weeping, weak, With hollow pitchish shriek. Rising from unrest The trembling woman pressed With feet of weary woe, She could no further go. In his arms he bore Her, armed with sorrow sore, Till before their way A couching lion lay. Turning back was vain, Soon his heavy mane Bored them to the ground, Then he stalked around. Smelling to his prey, But their fears allay, Then he licks their hands And silent by them stands. They look upon his eyes, Filled with deep surprise, And wondering, behold, A spirit armed in gold, On his head a crown, On his shoulders down, Float his golden hair, Gone was all their care. Follow me, he said, Weep not for the maid, And my palace deep Lyca lies asleep. And they followed where the vision led, And saw their sleeping child Among tigers wild. To this day they dwell In a lonely dell, Nor fear the wolfish howl, Nor the lions growl. CHAPTER VII The Chimney Sweeper A little black thing in the snow, Crying weep-weep and 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, To make up a heaven of our misery. CHAPTER VIII NURSES SONG When voices of children Are heard on the green, And whisperings are in the dale, The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind, My face turns green and pale. Then come home, my children, The sun has gone down, And the dues of night arise. Your spring and your day are wasted in play, And your winter and night in disguise. CHAPTER IX The Sick Rose 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. CHAPTER X THE FLY Little fly, thy summer's play, My thoughtless hand has brushed away. Am not I a fly like thee, Or art not thou a man like me? For I dance and drink and sing Till some blind hand shall brush my wing. If thought is life and strength and breath, And the want of thought is death, Then am I a happy fly if I live or if I die? CHAPTER X CHAPTER XI THE ANGEL I dreamt a dream, what can it mean? And that I was a maiden queen, Guarded by an angel mild, Whittless woe was ne'er beguiled. And I wept both night and day, And he wiped my tears away, And I wept both day and night, And hid from him my heart's delight. So he took his wings and fled. Then the morn blushed rosy red, I dried my tears, And armed my fears with ten thousand shields and spears. Soon my angel came again, I was armed, He came in vain, By the time of youth was fled, And gray hairs were on my head. CHAPTER XII THE TIGER Tiger, tiger, 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 seize the fire? And what shoulder and what art Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand and what dread feet? What the hammer, what the chain, In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil, what dread grasp, Dare its deadly terrors clasp? And the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with their tears. Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the lamb make thee? Tiger, tiger, Burning bright in the forests of the night. What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? CHAPTER XIII MY PRETTY ROSE TREE A flower was offered to me, Such a flower's may never bore. But I said, I have a pretty rose-tree, And I passed the sweet flower-ore. Then I went to my pretty rose-tree, To tend her by day and by night. But my rose turned away with jealousy, And her thorns were my only delight. CHAPTER XIV A sunflower. A sunflower, wary of time, Who countest the steps of the sun, Seeking after that sweet golden climb Where the traveller's journey is done, Where the youth pined away with desire, And the pale virgin shrouded in snow Arise from their graves, And aspire where my sunflower wishes to go. CHAPTER XIV THE LILLY The modest rose puts forth a thorn, The humble sheep a threatening horn, While the lily-white shall in love delight, Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright. CHAPTER XVI THE GARDEN OF LOVE I laid me down upon a bank, Where love lay sleeping. I heard among the rushes dank, Weeping, weeping. Then I went to the heath and the wild, To the thistles and thorns of the waste, And they told me how they were beguiled Driven out and compelled to the chaste. I went to the garden of love, And saw what I never had seen. A chapel was built in the midst Where I used to play on the green. And the gates of this chapel were shut, And thou shalt not writ over the door. So I turned to the garden of love That so many sweet flowers bore. And I saw it was filled with graves And tombstones where flowers should be, And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds, And binding with briars my joys and desires. CHAPTER XVI THE LITTLE VAGABOND Dear mother, dear mother, The church is cold, But the alehouse is healthy And pleasant and warm. Besides, I can tell Where I am used well, The poor parson's with wind Like a blown bladder swell. But if at the church They would give us some ale, And pleasant fire our souls to regale, We'd sing and we'd pray All the live long day, Nor ever once wish From the church to stray. Then the parson might preach And drink and sing, And we'd be as happy As birds in the spring. And modest Dame Lurch, Who is always at church, Would not have bandied children Nor fasting nor birch. And God, like a father Rejoicing to see his children as pleasant And happy as he, Would have no more quarrel With the devil or the barrel, But kiss him And give him both drink and apparel. CHAPTER XVIII LONDON 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-sweepers 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 newborn infant's tear In blights with plagues the marriage hearse. CHAPTER XIX THE HUMAN ABSTRACT 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 Saw it through nature to find this tree. But their search was all in vain. There grows one in the human brain. CHAPTER XX Infant sorrow My mother groaned, my father wept, Into the dangerous world I leapt. Helpless, naked, piping loud, Like a fiend hid in a cloud. Struggling in my father's hands, Striving against my swaddling bands. Bound and weary I thought best to sulk Upon my mother's breast. CHAPTER XXI 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 its 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. CHAPTER XXI CHAPTER XXII A little boy lost. Not loves another as itself, Nor venerates another so, Nor is it possible to thought A greater than itself to know. And father, how can I love you Or any of my brothers more? I love you like the little bird That picks up crumbs around the door. The priest sat by and heard the child In trembling zeal he seized his hair. He led him by his little coat, And all admired the priestly care. And standing on the altar high, Lo, what a fiend is here, said he, One who sets reason up For judge of our most holy mystery. The weeping child could not be heard. The weeping parents wept in vain. They stripped him to his little shirt, And bound him in an iron chain, And burned him in a holy place Where many had been burned before. The weeping parents wept in vain. Are such things done on Albion's shore? CHAPTER XXII CHAPTER XXIII A little girl lost. Children of the future age Reading this indignant page Know that in a former time Love, sweet love, was thought a crime. In the age of gold Free from winter's cold Youth and maiden bright To the holy light Naked in the sunny beams Delight. Once a youthful pair Filled with softest care Met in garden bright Where the holy light Just removed the curtains of the night. Then in rising day On the grass they play Parents were afar. Strangers came not near, And the maiden soon forgot her fear. Tired with kisses sweet They agreed to meet When the silent sleep Waves o'er heaven's deep. And the weary tired wanderers weep. To her father white Came the maiden bright But his loving look Like the holy book And her tender limbs With terror shook. Ona, pale and weak To thy father speak. Oh, the trembling fear. Oh, the dismal care That shakes the blossoms Of my hoary hair. End of Chapter XXIII Chapter XXIV The schoolboy I love to rise on a summer mourn When birds are singing On every tree. The distant huntsman In the skylark sings with me. Oh, what sweet company. But to go to school in a summer mourn Oh, it drives all joy away. Under a cruel eye outworn The little one spend the day In sighing and dismay. Ah, then at times I drooping sit And spend many an anxious hour. Nor in my book can I take delight Nor sit in learning's bower Worn through with the dreary shower. How can the bird that is born for joy Sit in a cage and sing? How can a child when fears annoy But droop his tender wing And forget his youthful spring? Oh, father and mother, If buds are nipped and blossoms blown away And if the tender plants are stripped Of their joy in the springing day By sorrow and care's dismay. How shall the summer arise in joy? Or the summer fruits appear? Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy? Or bless the mellowing year When the blasts of winter appear? End of Chapter 24 Chapter 25 To Terza What air is born of mortal birth Must be consumed with the earth To rise from generation free Than what have I to do with thee? The sexes spring from shame and pride Blown in the morn and evening died But mercy changed death into sleep The sexes rose to work and weep Thou mother of my mortal part With cruelty ditched mold my heart And with false self-deceiving tears Ditched bind my nostrils, eyes, and ears Ditched close my tongue in senseless clay In me to mortal life betray The death of Jesus set me free Than what have I to do with thee? End of Chapter 25 Chapter 26 The Voice of the Ancient Bard Youth of delight come hither And see the opening mourn Image of truth newborn Doubt is fled And clouds of reason Dark disputes and artful teasing 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 End of Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Appendix A divine image Cruelty as a human heart In 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 sealed The human heart its hungry gorge End of Chapter 27 And also the end of songs of experience By William Blake Chapters 0-4 Of the Book of Thel by William Blake This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information and to find out how you can volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Sam Stinson Chapter 0 Thel's motto Does the eagle know what is in the pit? Or will thou go ask the mole? Can wisdom be put in a silver rod? Or love in a golden bowl? End of Chapter 0 Chapter 1 The daughters of the Seraphim Led round their sunny flocks All but the youngest She and paleness sought the secret air To fade away like morning beauty From her mortal day Down by the river of Adana Her soft voice is heard And thus her gentle lamentation falls Like morning dew O life of this our spring Why fades the lotus of the water? Why fade these children of the spring Born but to smile in fall? Ah, Thel is like a watery bow And like a parting cloud Like a reflection in a glass Like shadows in the water Like dreams of infants Like a smile upon an infant's face Like the dove's voice Like transient day Like music in the air Ah, gentle may I lay me down In gentle rest my head And gentle sleep the sleep of death And gently hear the voice of him Like if in the garden in the evening time The lily of the valley breathing in The humble grass answered the lovely maid And said, I am a watery weed And I am very small And love to dwell in lowly veils So weak the gilded butterfly Scarce perches on my head Yet I am visited from heaven And he that smiles on all Walks in the valley And each morn over me Spreads his hand, saying Rejoice, thou humble grass Thou newborn lily flower Thou gentle maid of silent valleys And of modest brooks For thou shall be clothed in light And fed with morning manna Till summer's heat melts thee Beside the fountains and the springs To flourish in eternal veils They, why should Thel complain? Why should the mistress of the veils Of Har, Aturasai? She ceased and smiled in tears Then sat down in her silver shrine Thel answered, O thou little virgin Of the peaceful valley Giving to those that cannot crave The voiceless, the or tired, The breath doth nourish the innocent lamb He smells the milky garments He crops thy flowers while Thou sittest smiling in his face Wiping his mild and meeken mouth From all contagious taints Thy wine doth purify the golden honey Thy perfume, which thou dost scatter On every little blade of grass that springs Revives the milked cow And tames the fire-breathing steed But Thel is like a faint cloud Kindled at the rising sun I vanish from my pearly throne And who shall find my place? Queen of the veils, the lily answered Ask the tender cloud And it shall tell thee Why it glitters in the morning sky And why it scatters its bright beauty Through the humid air Descend, O little cloud, And hover before the eyes of Thel The cloud descended And the lily bowed her modest head And went to mind her numerous charge Among the verdant grass End of chapter one Chapter two 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 showed his golden head And his bright form emerged Hovering and glittering on the air Before the face of Thel O virgin, noest thou not Our steed's drink of the golden springs Where Louva doth renew his horses Lookest thou on my youth And fierce 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 wholly Unseen descending Way my light wings upon balmy flowers And court the fair I do To take me to her shining tent The weeping virgin Trembling kneels before the risen sun Till we arise linked In a golden band In never part But walk, united bearing Food to all our tender flowers Does thou, O little cloud? I fear that I am not like thee For I walk through the veils of horror 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 woman lived Or did she only live To be at death the food of worms The cloud reclined upon his airy throne And answered thus Then if thou art the food of worms O virgin of the skies How great thy use How great thy blessing Everything that lives Lives not alone nor of 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 lily's leaf And the bright cloud sailed on To find his partner in the veil CHAPTER III Then fell astonished, Viewed the worm upon its dewy bed Art thou a worm? Image of weakness Art thou but a worm? I see thee like an infant Wrapped in the lily's leaf Ah, weep not, little voice Thou canst not speak But thou canst weep Is this a worm? I see they lay helpless and naked Weeping and none to answer None to cherish thee With mother's smiles The clot of clay Heard the worm's voice And raised her pitting head She bowed over the weeping infant And her life exhaled In milky fondness Then on fell she fixed her humble eyes Oh, beauty of the veils of horror We live not for ourselves Thou seized me the meanest thing And so I am indeed My bosom of itself is cold And of itself is dark But he that loves the lowly Pours his oil upon my head And kisses me And binds his nuptial bands Around my breast And says, Thou mother of my children I have loved thee And I have given thee a crown That none can take away But how this is sweet made I know not And I cannot know I ponder And I cannot ponder Yet I live and love The daughter of beauty Said, alas, I knew not this And therefore did I weep That God would love a worm I knew And punish the evil foot That willful bruised its helpless form But that he cherished it With milk and oil I never knew And therefore did I weep And I complained in the mild air Because I fade away And lay me down in thy cold bed And leave my shining lot Queen of the veils The matron clay answered I heard thy sighs And all thy moans flew o'er my roof But I have called them down Will thou, O queen, enter my house Tis given thee to enter And to return Fear nothing Enter with thy virgin feet Thel entered in and saw the secrets Of the land unknown She saw the couches of the dead And where the fibrous roots Of every heart on earth Infixes deep its restless twists A land of sorrows and of tears Where never smile was seen She wandered in the land of clouds Through valleys dark Listening dollars and lamentations Waiting oft beside the dewy grave She stood in silence Listening to the voices of the ground Till to her own grave plot she came And there she sat down And heard this voice of sorrow Breathe from the hollow pit Why cannot the ear be closed To its own destruction Or the glistening eye To the poison of a smile Why are eyelids stored with arrows ready drawn Where a thousand fighting men In ambush lie Or an eye of gifts and graces Showering fruits in coinet gold Why a tongue impressed with honey From every wind Why an ear a whirlpool Fierce to draw creations in Why a nostril why in hailing terror Trembling in a fright Why a tender curb upon the youthful burning boy Why a little curtain of flesh On the bed of our desire The virgin started from her seat And with a shriek Fled back unhindered till She came into the veils of horror