Songs of Innocence and Experience Read online

  How the youthful harlot's curse

  Blasts the new-born infant's tear,

  And blights with plagues the marriage hearse.

  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 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.

  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.

  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.

  A LITTLE BOY LOST

  'Nought 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 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?

  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

  Had just removed the curtains of the night.

  There, 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 agree 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,

  All her tender limbs with terror shook.

  Ona, pale and weak,

  To thy father speak!

  O the trembling fear!

  O 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 steal

  O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast

  Where thy little heart doth rest.

  O the cunning wiles that creep

  In thy little heart asleep!

  When 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 winds his horn,

  And the skylark sings with me:

  O what sweet company!

  But to go to school in a summer morn, -

  O it drives all 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 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!

  O 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?

  TO TIRZAH

  Whate'er is born of mortal birth

  Must be consumed with the earth,

  To rise from generation free:

  Then what have I 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 my heart,

  And with false self-deceiving tears

  Didst blind my nostrils, eyes,
and ears,

  Didst close my tongue in senseless clay,

  And me to mortal life betray.

  The death of Jesus set me free:

  Then what have I to do with thee?

  THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT BARD

  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.

  End of Project Gutenberg Etext Songs of Innocence and Experience by Blake

  from http://manybooks.net/

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: 20a18b4a-fb99-4c27-a0ac-90c7004a4e29

  Document version: 1

  Document creation date: 8.4.2012

  Created using: calibre 0.8.10 software

  Document authors :

  William Blake

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