 Section 1 of Songs of Innocence and of Experience. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by phone. Songs of Innocence and of Experience by William Bleak. Section 1. Songs of Innocence. Introduction. 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 at song again, so I piped. He wept to hear. Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe, sing thy songs of happy cheer. So I sung 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 may joy to hear. The shepherd. How sweet is the shepherd's sweet look! From the morn to the evening he strays. 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 hue's tender reply. He is watchful while they are in peace, For they know when their shepherd is nigh, the echoing green. The sun does arise, and make happy the skies, The merry bells ring to welcome the spring. The skyler can 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 his 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, such were the joys when we all, girls and boys, In our youth time were seen on the echoing green. Till the little ones weary no more can be merry. The sun does descend, and our sports have an end, Round the laps of their mothers, many sisters and brothers, Like birds in their nest are ready for rest, And sport no more seam on the darkening green. 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 the light, Softest clothing, wooly, 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. 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 pointing 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-burned face Are 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 and care, And round my golden tent light lambs rejoice. Thus did my mother say and kissed me, And thus I say to little English boy, When I from black and he from white cloud free, And round the tent of God like lambs rejoice, I'll shade him from the heat till he can bear To lean in 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, The blossom. Merry, merry sparrow, and their leaves so green, A happy blossom sees you, swift as arrow, Seek your cradle narrow near my bosom. Pretty, pretty robin, and their leaves so green, A happy blossom hears you sobbing, sobbing, Pretty, pretty robin near my bosom, 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 insert 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, and 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 set 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 God 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. End of section 1 Section 2 of Songs of Innocence and of Experience by William Blake. This liberalx recording is in the public domain. The Little Boy Lost Father, Father, where are you going? Oh, 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. The Little Boy Found The little boy, lost in a 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, Her little boy weeping salt. Laughing 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 mouths 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! A Cradle Song Sweet dreams form a shade, Or my lovely infant's head. Sweet dreams of pleasant streams, By happy, silent, moony beams. Sweet sleep with soft down, Weave thy brows an infant crown. Sweet sleep, angel mild, Hover or my happy child. Sweet smiles in the night, Hover over my delight. Sweet smiles, mother's smiles, All the live long night beguiles. Sweet moans, dove-like sighs, Chase not slumber from thy eyes. Sweet moans, sweeter smiles, All the dove-like moans beguiles. Sleep, sleep, happy child, All creation slept and smiled. Sleep, sleep, happy sleep, While over thee thy 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, Though his image ever see, Heaven the face that smiles on thee. Smiles on thee, on me, on all, Who became an infant small. Infant smiles are his own smiles, Heaven and earth to peace beguiles, The 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 and 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, Prays to the human form divine, Love, mercy, pity, peace And almost love the human form In heathen, Turk or Jew, Where mercy, love and pity dwell, There God is dwelling to, Holy Thursday. Twas on a holy Thursday Their innocent faces clean, The children walking two and two In red and blue and green. Grey-headed beetles walked before With wands as white as snow Till into the high dome of poles They, like Tamswaters, flow. Oh, what a multitude they seemed These flowers of London town. Seated in companies they sit With radians 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 wind, They raise to heaven the voice of song, Or like harmonious thunderings The seats of heaven among. Beneath them sit the aged men Wise guardians of the poor. Then cherish Pity, Lest you drive an angel from your door. End of Section 2 Section 3 of Songs of Innocence And of Experience by William Blake This Libervox recording is in the public domain. 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 groves Where flocks have took delight Where lambs have nibbled Silent moves 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 Flow with tears of gold And pitying the tender cries And walking round the fold Saying wroth by his meekness And by his health sickness Is driven away from our immortal day. And now beside thee Bleeting lamb I can lie down and sleep Or think on him who bore thy name And raise after thee and weep. For washed in life's river My bright mane forever Shall shine like the gold As I guard or the fold. Spring sound the flute Now it's mute Birds the light day and night Nightingale in the dill Lark in sky 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 We welcome in the year. Nurses song When 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 The light arrives. 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 Or my angel-guarded bed That an emet lost its way Where on the grass Me thought I lay Troubled, wildered And forlorn Dark, benighted, travel-worn Over many a tangled 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 warm 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 hide 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 chair? Can a father see his child weep Nor be with sorrow failed? 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 sorrow's small Hear the small birds grieve and care Hear the woes that infants bear And not sit beside the nest 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 and gone He doth sit by us and moan. End of section 3 Section 4 Of Songs of Innocence And of Experience by William Blake This Liberfox recording is in public domain. Songs of Experience, 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 trees Calling the lapsid 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 to the dewy grass Light is worn and the mourn Rises from the slumberous moss Turn away no more Why wilt thou turn away The starry floor, the watery shore Is given thee till the break of day Earth's answer Earth raised up her hand From the darkness dread and drear Her light flamed, stony, drenned And her locks covered with greatest spare Prisoned on watery shore Starry jealousy does keep my den Cold and hoar Keeping oar I hear the father Of the ancient men Selfish father of men Cruel, jealous, selfish fear Can the light chained in night Divergence of youth and mourning bear Does spring hide its joy When buds and blossoms grow Does the sower so by night In darkness plow Break this heavy chain That does freeze my bones around Selfish, vain, eternal vain That free love with bondage bound The clawed and the pebble Love seeketh not itself to please Nor for itself hath any care But for another gives its ease And builds a heaven in hell's despair So sung a little clawed of clay Trodden with the cuddle'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 Thursday Is this a holy thing to see In a rich and fruitful land Babes reduced to misery Fend with cold and usurious hand Is that trembling cry a song Can it be a song of joy And so many children poor 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 wherever the sun does shine And wherever the rain does fall Babe can never hunger there Nor poverty the mind appall The little girl lost In futurity I prophesy That the earth from sleep Grave the sentence deep Shall 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 Leica lay Seven summers old Lovely Leica told She had wandered long Hearing wild bird song Sweet sleep come to me Underneath this tree Do father mother weep Where can Leica sleep Lost in desert wild Is your little child How can Leica sleep If her mother weep If her heart does ache Then let Leica wake If my mother sleep Leica shall not weep Frowning, frowning night Or this desert bright Let thy moon arise While I close my eyes Sleeping Leica lay While the beasts of prey Come from caverns deep Viewed the made asleep The kingly lion stood And the virgin viewed Then he gambled round Or'd hallowed ground Leopards, tigers play Round her as she lay While the lion old Bowed his mane of gold And her bosom lick And upon her neck From his eyes of flame Ruby tears there came While the lioness Loosed her slender dress And naked they conveyed To caves the sleeping maid The little girl found Olden night in woe Leica's parents go over valleys deep While the deserts weep Tired and woe be gone Horse with making moan Arm in arm seven days They traced to 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, piteous shriek Rising from unrest A 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 him to the ground Then he stalked around Telling to his prey But their fears allay When 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 In my palace deep Leica lies asleep Then they follow it 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 lion's growl The chimney-sweeper A little black thing Among the snow, crying Weep, weep, in notes of woe Where are thy father and mother, say They're 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 the 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 Who made up a heaven of our misery End of section four Section five of Songs of Innocence End of Experience by William Blake When the 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 is gone down And the do's of night arise Your spring has come The sun is gone down And the do's of night arise Your spring and your day are wasted in play And your winter and night in disguise 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 the fly Little fly, by summer's play My thoughtless hand has brushed away I'm 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 a want of thought is death Then am I a happy fly If I live or if I die 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 near 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 the light 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 For the time of youth was fled And gray hairs were on my head 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 Burned the fire of thine eyes On what wings dare he aspire What the hand dare sees 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 grot Dare its deadly terrors clasp When the stars threw down their spears And watered heaven with their tears Did he smile his work to see That he who made the lamb made thee Tiger, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry My pretty rose-tree A flower was offered to me Such a flower as may never bore But I said, I have a pretty rose-tree And I passed a sweet flower o'er 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 Ah, sunflower! Ah, sunflower, weary 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 The humble sheep a-threatening horn While the lily-white shall in love the light Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright The garden of love 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 The little vagabond Dear mother, dear mother, the church is cold But the ill-house is healthy and pleasant and warm Besides, I can tell where I am used well Such usage in heaven will never do well But if at the church they would give us some ill And a 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 person 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 bandy 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 London I wander 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 a hapless soldier sigh Runs in blood down palace walls But most through midnight streets I hear How the youthful harlots curse Blasts the newborn infant's tear And blights with plagues to marriage hers The human abstract Titi 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 bait with care He sits down with 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 to 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 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 sought best To sulk upon my mother's breast A poison tree 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 Section 7 A Songs of Innocence and of Experience by William Blake This Liberfox According is in a public domain Recording by phone 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 his priestly care And standing on the altar high Lo, what a fiend is here, said he One who says 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? 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 Failed with softest care Met in garden bright Where the holy light Had just removed the curtains of the night There in rising day On the grass they played Parents were afar Strangers came not near And the maiden soon forgot her fear Tired with kisses sweet They agreed to meet When the silence sleep Waves our heavens deep And to weary tired wanderers weep To her father white Came the maiden bright But his loving look Like the holy book All her tender limbs With terror shook Ona, pale and weak To thy father speak Of the trembling fear Of the dismal care That shakes the blossoms Of my hoary hair A divine image Cruelty has a human heart And 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 A cradle song Sleep sleep beauty bright Dreaming in the joys of night Sleep sleep in thy sleep Little sorrows sit and weep Sweet babe in thy face Soft desires I can trace Secret joys and secret smiles Little pretty infant wiles As thy softest limbs I feel Smiles as of the morning steel Or thy cheek and or thy breast Or thy little heart doth rest Of the cunning wiles that creep In thy little heart asleep Thy little heart doth wake Then the dreadful light shall break The schoolboy I love to rise in a summer morn When the birds sing on every tree The distant huntsman wins his horn And a skiner sings with me Oh, what sweet company But to go to school in a summer morn Oh, it drives all the joy away Under a cruel eye outworn The little ones 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 learnings 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 Or sorrow and cares 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 To Tirzal? What error is born of mortal birth Must be consumed with the earth To rise from generation free To do with thee? The sexes sprung from shame and pride Blowed in the morn in evening died But mercy changed death into sleep The sexes rose to work and weep Thou, mother of my mortal part With cruelty didst mould by heart And with false self-deceiving tears It's blind my nostrils, eyes and ears It's closed my tongue in senseless clay And me to mortal life betray The death of Jesus set me free Then what of I to do with thee? 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 Fully 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 section 7, recording by phone End of Songs of Innocence and of Experience by William Blake