WILLIAM BLAKE' S POEMS

I hear a voice you cannot hear, that says I must not stay,
I see a hand you cannot see, that beckons me away.

Oh! why was I born with a different face? why was I not born like the rest of my race? when
 I  look,each one starts! when I speak, I offend;  then Im silent & passive & lose every friend. Then
 my verse I dishonour, my pictures despise, my person degrade & my temper chastise; and the pen is my terror, the pencil my shame;  all my talents I bury, and dead is my fame.  Im either too low or too highly prized; when elate I m envy'd, when meek Im despis'd..........

| A DIVINE IMAGE | TO MORNING | SONG | MAD SONG | TO THE MUSES |
| A DREAM | INFANT JOY | NIGHT | A CRADLE SONG | ON ANOTHER' S SORROW |
| EARTH' S ANSWER | THE CLOD & THE PEBBLE | THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER |
| THE SICK ROSE | THE FLY | THE ANGEL | THE GARDEN OF LOVE | LONDON |
| THE HUMAN ABSTRACT | A POISON TREE | SOFT SNOW | MOCK ON |
| AUGURIES OF INNOCENCE | THE LITTLE BOY LOST | THE LITTLE BOY FOUND |
 | SONG FIRST BY A SHEPHERD | SONG THIRD BY AN OLD SHEPHERD |
| MISS GITTIPIN' S SECOND SONG | MY PRETTY ROSE TREE | THE LILY |
| THE SMILE | MORNING | TERROR IN THE HOUSE | THE LAND OF DREAMS |
| I TOLD MY LOVE | I LAID ME DOWN | I HEARD AN ANGEL | O LAPWING |
| THOU HAST A LAP FULL OF SEED | IN A MYRTLE SHADE | AS I WANDERED |
| ARE NOT THE JOYS | HOW TO KNOW LOVE FROM DECEIT | TO MY MYRTLE |
| DAY | IF YOU TRAP THE MOMENT | ETERNITY | THE LOOK OF LOVE ALARMS |
| O'VER MY SINS | THE MENTAL TRAVELLER | I FEARED THE FURY |

A DIVINE IMAGE

Cruelty has a human heart,
and jealousy a human face;
Terror the human form divine,
abd secresy the human dress.
The human dress is forged iron,
the hunan face a furnace seal'd,
the human heart its hungry gorge.

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TO MORNING

oh! holy virgin! clad in purest white,
unlock heav'n's golden gates, and issue forth;
awake the dawn that sleeps in heaven; let light
rise from the chambers of the east, and bring
the honied dew that cometh on walking day.
oh! radiant morning, salute the sun,
rouz'd like a huntsman to the chace; and, with
the buskin'd feet, appear upon our hills.
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SONG

How sweet I roam'd from field to field,
and tasted all the summer's pride,
'till I the prince of love beheld,
who in the sunny beams did glide!
He shew'd me lilies for my hair,
and blushing roses for my brow;
he led me through his garden fair,
where all his golden pleasures grow.
With sweet May dews my wings were wet,
and Phoebus fir' d my vocal rage;
he caught me in his silken net,
and shut me in his golden cage.
He loves to sit and hear me sing,
then, laughing, sports and plays with me;
Then stretches out my golden wing,
and mocks my loss of liberty.
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MAD SONG

The wild winds weep,
and the night is a-cold;
come hither,sleep,
and my griefs infold:
but lo! the morning peeps
over the eastern steeps
and the rustling birds of dawn
the earth do scorn.
Lo! to the vault
of paved heaven
with sorrow fraught
my notes are driven:
they strike the ear of night,
make weep the eyes of day;
they make mad the roaring winds,
and with tempests play.
Like a friend in a cloud
with howling woe,
after night I do croud,
and with night will go;
I turn my back to the east,
from whence comforts have increas' d;
for light doth seize my brain
with frantic pain.

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TO THE MUSES

Whether on Ida's shady brow,
or in the chambers of the east,
the chambers of the sun, that now
from antient melody have ceas'd;
Whether in hean'n ye wander fair,
or the green corners of the earth,
or the blue regions of the air,
where the melodious winds have birth;
Whether on chrystal rocks ye rove,
beneath the bosom of the sea
wand'ring in many a coral grove,
fair nine, forsaking poetry!
How have you left the antient love
that bards of old enjoy'd in you!
The languid strings do scarcely move!
The sound is forc'd, the notes are few!

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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.
troubles,'wilder'd, and forlorn,
dark,benighted, travel - worn,
over many a tangled spray,
all heart-broke I heart her say:
'O, my children! do they cry?
do they hear their father sigh?
now the look abroad to see:
now return and weep for me.
Pitying, I drop'd a tear;
but i saw a glow-worm near,
who replied: what wailing wight
'calls the watchman of the night?
I'm set to light the ground,
while the beetle goes his round:
follow mow the beetle's hum;
little wanderer, hie thee home.

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INFANT JOY

I have no name:
I'm but tow days old.
What shall I call thee?
I happy am,
Joy is my name.
Sweet joy befall thee!
pretty joy!
Sweet loy but tow days old,
sweet joy I call thee:
Thou dost smile,
I sing the while,
sweet joy befall thee!

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NIGHT

The sundescending 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,
oh each bud and blossom, and each sleeping bosom.
They look in every thoughtless nest, where birds are cover'd 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 wolfs and tygers howl for prey,they pitying stand and weep;
seeking to drive their thirst away, and keep them form the sheep;
but if they rush dreadful, the angels, most heedful,
recieve 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
is 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, wash' d in life' s river, my bright mane for ever
shall shine like the gold as I guard o'er the fold.

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A CRADLE SONG

Sweet dreams, form a shade
over my lonely infant' s head;
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
by happy, silent, moony beams.
Sweet sleep, with soft down
weave thy brows as infant crown.
Sweet sleep, Angel mild,
hover over my happy child.
Sweet smiles in the night
hover over my delight;
sweet smiles, Mother' s smiles,
all the livelong night beguiles.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
chase not slumber from the eyes.
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
all the dovelike moans beguiles.
Sleep, sleep, happy child,
all creation slept and smil'd;
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,
weept for me, for thee, for all,
when his image ever see,
heavenly face that smiles on thee,
smiles on thee, on me, on all;
who became an infant small.
Infant smiles are his own smiles;
Heaven & earth to peace beguiles.

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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 fill' d?
Can a mother sit and hear
an infant groam 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 & 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 & day,
wiping all our tears away?
O! 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 cast weep a tear
and thy maker is not near.
o! he gives to us his joy
that our grief he may destroy;
till our grief is fled & gone
he doth sit by us and moan.

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EARTH' S ANSWER

Earth rais'd up her head
from the darkness dread & drear.
her light fled,
stony dread!
and her locks cover'd with grey despair.
Prison'd on wat'ry shore,
starry jealousy does keep my den:
cold and hoar,
weeping over,
I hear the father of the ancient men.
Selfish father of men!
cruel, jealous, selfish fear!
can delight,
chain'd in night,
the virgins of youth and morning bear?
Does spring hide its joy
when buds and blossoms grow?
does the sower
sow 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?

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THE CLOD & THE PEBBLE

Love seeketh not itself to please,
nor for itself hath any care,
but for onother gives its ease,
and builds a heaven in hell's despair?
So sung a little clod of clay
trodden with the cattle's feet,
but a pebble of the brook
warbled out these metres meet:
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?

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THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER

A little black thing among the snow,
crying..weep! weep! in notes of woe!
where are thy father & 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 cloth'd me in the clothes of death,
and taught me to sing the notes of woe.
And because I am happy & dance & sing,
they think they have done me no injury,
and are gone to praise God & his Priest & King,
who make up a heaven of our misery?

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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.

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THE FLY

Little fly,
thy summer's play
my thoughtless hand
has brush'd away.
Am not I
a flt 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 & breath,
and the want
of thought is death;
Then am I
a happy fly,
if I live
or if I die.

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THE ANGEL

I dreamt a dream! what can it mean?
and that I was a maiden Queen,
guarded by an Angel mild:
Witless woe was ne'er beguil'd!
and I wept both night and day,
and he wip'd 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 blush'd rosy red;
I dried my tears, and arm'd my fears
with ten thousend shields and spears.
Soon my Angel came again:
I was arm'd, he came in vain;
for the time of youth was fled,
and grey hairs were on my head.

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THE GARDEN OF LOVE

I went to the garden of  love,
and saw what I never had seen:
a chapel was build 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 turn'd to the garden of love
that so many sweet flowers bore;
And I saw it was filled with graves,
and tomb-stones where flowers should be;
and priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
and binding with briars my joys and desires.

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LONDON

I wander thro' each charter'd street,
near where the chartr'd Thames does flow,
and 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-forg'd manacles I hear.
How the Chimney-sweeper's cry
every black' ning church appalls;
and the hapless soldier's sigh
runs in blood down palce walls.
But most thro' midnight streets I hear
how the youthful Harlot's curse
blasts the new born infant's tear,
and blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.

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THE HUMAN ABSTRACT

Pity would be no more
If we did not make somebody poor;
and mercy no more could be
I 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 rood
underneath his foot.
Soon spreads the dismal shade
of mystery over his haed;
and the catterpiller 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 annd sea
sought thro' nature to find this tree;
but their search was all in vain;
there grows one in the Human Brain.

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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 water'd 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;
annd my foe beheld it shine,
and he knew that it was mine,
and into my garden stole
when the night had veil'd the pole:
In the morning glad I see
my foe outstretch'd beneath the tree.

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SOFT SNOW

I walked abroad in a snowy day:
I ask'd the soft snow with me to play:
She play'd and she melted in all her prime,
and the winter call'd it a dreadful crime

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MOCK ON

Mock on,mock on Voltaire, Rousseau:
Mock on,mock on: 'tis all in vain!
you throw the sand against the wind,
annd the wind blows it back again.
And every  sand becomes a Gem
reflected in the beams divine;
blown back they blind the mocking eye,
but still in Israel's paths they shine.
The atoms of Democritus
and Newton's Particles of light
and sands upon the Red sea shore,
where Israel's tents do shine so bright.

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AUGURIES OF INNOCENCE

To see a world in a grain of sand and a heaven in a wild flower,
hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in a hour.
A Robin Red breast in a Cage puts all heaven in a rage.
A dove house fill'd with doves & Pigeons shudders hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his Master's Gate Predicts the ruin of the state.
A horse misus'd upon the road calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare a fibre from the brain does tear.
A skylark wounded in the wing, a Cherubim does cease to sing.
The game cock clip'd & arm'd for fight does the rising sun affright.
every wolf's & lion's howl  raises from hell a human soul.
the wild deer, wand'ring here & there, keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misus'd breeds public strife and yet forgives the butcher's knife.
The bat that flits at close of Eve has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night speaks the unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little Wren  shall never be belov'd by Men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov'd shall never be by Woman lov'd.
The wanton boy that kills the fly shall feel the spider's enmity.
he who torments the Chafer's sprite weaves a bower in endless night.
The catterpiller on the leaf repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly, for the last judgment draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war shall never pass the polar bar.
The begger's dog & window's cat, feed them & thou wilt grow fat.
The gnat that sings his summer's song poison gets from  slander's tonque.
The poison of the honey bee is the artist's jealousy.
The Prince's Robes & Beggar's rags are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent beats all the lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so; man was made for joy & woe;
And thenthis we rightly know thro' the world we safely go.
Joy & woe are wonen fine, a clothing for the soul divine;
Under every grief & pine runs a joy with silken twine.
The babe is more than swadling bands; throughout all these human lands
Tools were made, & born were hands, every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eyebecomes a babe in eternity;
this is caught by females bright and return'd to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow & roar are waves that beat on heaven's shore,
The babe that weeps the road beneath writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air, does to rags the heavens tear.
The soldier, arm'd with sword & gun, palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is   worth more than all the gold on Afric's shore.
One mite wrung from the labrer's hands shall buy & sell the miser's lands:
Or, if protected from on high does that whole nation sell & buy.
he who mock'd the infant's faith shall be mock'd in age & death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt the rotting grave shall ne'er get out.
he who respects the infant's faith triumphs over hell & death.
the child's toys & the old man's reasons are the fruits of the two seasons.
The questioner. who sits so sly, shall never know how to reply.
he who replies to words of doubt doth put the light of knowledge out.
The strongest poison ever known  came from Caecar's Laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race like to the Armour's iron brace.
When gold & gems adorn the plow to peaceful arts shall evry bow.
A riddle or the cricket's cry is to doubt a fit reply.
the Emmet's inch & eagle's mile make lame philosophy to smile.
Make leme philosophy  to smile.
he who doubts from what he sees will ne'er believe, do what you please.
If the sun & moon should doubt, they'd immediatly go out.
To be in a passion you good may do, but no good if a passion is in you.
The whore & gambler, by the state lienc'd, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street shall weave old England's winding sheet.
The winner's shout, the loser's curse, dance before dead England's hearse.
ENERY NIGHT & EVERY MORN SOME TO MISERY ARE BORN.
EVERY MORN & EVERY NIGHT SOME ARE BORN TO SWEET DELIGHT.
SOME ARE BORN TO SWEET DELIGHT, SOME ARE BORNTO ENDLESS NIGHT.
We are led to believe a lie when we see not thro' the eye
which was born in a night to perish in a night when the soul slept in beams of light.
God appers & God is light to those poor souls who dwell in night.
But  does a human form display to those who dwell in realms of day.

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THE LITTLE BOY LOST

Father! Father! where are you going?
'O do not walk so fast.
'Speak, father, speak to your little boy,
'Or else I shall be lost?
The night was dark, no fatherwas there;
The child was wet with dew;
The mire was deep, & the child did weep,
And away the vapour flew.
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THE LITTLE BOY FOUND

The little boy lost in the lonely fen,
led by the wand'ring light,
began to cry; but God, ever nigh,
appear'd like his father in white.
He kissed the child & by the hand led
and to his mother brought,
who in sorrow pale, thro' the lonely dale,
her little boy weeping sought.
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SONG FIRST BY A SHEPHERD

Welcome, stranger, to this place,
where joy doth sit on every bough;
paleness flies from every face;
we reap not what we do not sow.
Innocence doth like a rose
bloom on every maiden's cheek;
honour twines around her brows;
the jewel health adorns her neck.
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SONG THIRD BY AN OLD SHEPHERD

When silver snow decks Sylvio's clothes,
and jewel hangs at shepherd's nose,
we can abide life's pelting storm,
that makes our limbs quake, if our hearts be warm.
Whilst virtue is our walking-staff,
and truth a lantern to our path,
we can abide life's pelting storm,
that makes our limbs quake, if our hearts be warm.
Blow, boisterous wind; stern winter, frown.
Innocence is a winter's gown;
so clad, we 'll abide life's pelting storm,
that makes our limbs quake, if our hearts be warm.
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MISS GITTIPIN'S SECOND SONG

Leave, oh, leave me to my sorrows;
here I 'll sit and fade away,
till I 'm nothing but a spirit,
and I lose this form of clay.
Then if change along this forest
any walk in pathless ways,
through the gloom he 'll see my shadow,
hear my voice upon the breeze.

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MY PRETTY ROSE TREE

A flower was offered to me,
such a flower as May never bore,
but I said, I 've a pretty rose tree,
and I passed the 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.
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THE LILY

The modest rose puts forth a thorn,
the humble sheep a threat'ning horn;
while the lily white shall in love delight,
nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.
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THE SMILE

There is a smile of  love,
and there is a smile of deceit;
and there is a smile of smiles,
in which these two smiles meet.
(And there is a frown of hate,
and there is a frown of disdain;
and there is a frown of frowns
which you strive to forget in vain,
For it sticks in the heart's deep core,
and it sticks in the deep backbone.)
And no smile that ever was smiled,
but only one smile alone--
That betwixt the cradle and grave
it only once smiled can be,
but when it once is smiled
there's an end to all misery.
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MORNING

To find the western path,
right through the gates of wrath,
I urge my way.
Sweet mercy leads me on
with soft repentant moan.
I see the break of day.
The war of swords and spears,
melted by dewy tears,
exhales on high.
The sun is freed from fears,
and with soft grateful tears
ascends the sky.
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TERROR IN THE HOUSE

Terror in the house does roar,
but pity stands before the door.
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THE LAND OF DREAMS

Awake, awake my little boy,
thou wast thy mother's only joy.
Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep?
Awake, thy father does thee keep.
Oh, what land is the land of dreams?
What are its mountains and what are its streams?
O father, I saw my mother there,
among the lilies by waters fair.
Among the lambs clothed in white,
she walked with her Thomas in sweet delight.
I wept for joy; like a dove I mourn.
Oh, when shall I again return?
Dear child, I also by pleasand streams
have wandered all night in the land of dreams;
but though calm and warm the waters wide,
I could not get to the other side?
Father, O father, what do we here,
in this land of unbelief and fear?
The land of dreams is better far--
above the light of the morning star.
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I TOLD MY LOVE

I told my love, I told my love,
I told her all my heart,
trebling, cold, in ghastly fears.
Ah, she doth depart.
Soon as she was gone from me,
a traveller came by
silently, invisibly.
Oh, was no deny.
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I LAID ME DOWN

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 be chaste.
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I HEARD AN ANGEL

I heard an angel singing,
when the day was springing,
mercy,pity,peace,
is the world's release.
Thus he sung all day
over the new-mown hay,
till the sun went down
and haycocks looked brown.
I heard a devil curse
over the heath and the furze,
mercy could be no more
if there was nobody poor,
and pity no more could be
if all were as happy as we.
At this curse the sun went down,
and the heavens gave a frown.
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O LAPWING

O lapwing, thou flyest around the heath,
nor seest the net that is spread beneath.
Why dost thou not fly among the cornfields?
they cannot spread nets where a harvest yields.
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THOU HAST A LAP FULL OF SEED

Thou hast a lap full of seed
and this is a fine country;
why dost thou not cast thy seed
and live in it merrily?
Shall I cast it on the sand
and turn it into fruitful land?
for on no other ground
can I sow my seed
without tearing up
some stinking weed.
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IN A MYRTLE SHADE

Why should I be bound to thee,
O my lovely myrtle tree?
Love, free love, cannot be bound
to any tree that grows on ground.
Oh how sick and weary I
underneath my myrtle lie,
like the dung upon the ground,
underneath my myrtle bound.
Oft my myrtle signed in vain,
to behold my heavy chain.
Oft my father saw us sigh,
and laughed at our simplicity.
So I smote him, and his gore
stained the roots my myrtle bore;
but the time of youth is fled,
and grey hairs are on my head.
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AS I WANDERED

As I wandered the forest,
the greenleaves among,
I heard a wild flower
singing a song:
I slept in the earth
in the silent night,
I murmured my fears
and I felt delight.
In the morning I went,
as rosy as morn,
to seek for new joy,
but I met with scorn.
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ARE NOT THE JOYS

Are not the joys of morning sweeter
than the joys of night,
and are the vig'rous joys of youth
ashamed of the light?
Let age and sickness silent rob
the vineyards in the night,
but those who burn with vig'rous youth
pluck fruits before the light.
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HOW TO KNOW LOVE FROM DECEIT

Love to faults is always blind,
always is to joy inclined,
lawless, winged and unconfined,
and breaks all chains from every mind.
Deceit to secrecy  confined,
lawful, cautious and refined,
to everything but interest blind,
and forges fetters for the mind.
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TO MY MYRTLE

To a lovely myrtle bound,
blossoms show'ring all around,
Oh, how sick and weary I
underneath my myrtle lie.
Why should I be bound to thee,
O my lovely myrtle tree?
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DAY

The sun arises in the east,
clothed in robes of blood and gold;
Swords and spears and wrath increased,
all around his bosom rolled,
crowned with warlike fires and raging desires.

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IF YOU TRAP THE MOMENT

If you trap the moment before it's ripe,
the tears of repentance you' ll certainly wipe;
But if once you let the ripe moment go,
you can never wipe off the tears of woe.
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ETERNITY

He who binds to himself a joy
does the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
lives in eternity's sunrise.
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THE LOOK OF LOVE ALARMS

The look of love alarms
because 'tis filled with fire;
But the look of soft deceit
shall win the lover's hire.
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O'ER MY SINS

O'er my sins thou sit and moan;
Hast thou no sins of thy own?
O'er my sins thou sit and weep,
and lull thy own sins fast asleep.
What transgressions I commit,
are for thy transgressions fit;
They thy harlots, thou their slave,
and my bed becomes their grave.
Poor, pale, pitiable form
that I follow in a storm,
iron tears and groans of lead
bind around my aching head.
And let us go to the highest downs
with many pleasing wiles.
The woman that does not love your frowns
will never embrace your smiles.

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THE MENTAL TRAVELLER

I travelled through a land of men,
a land of men and women too,
and heard and saw such dreadful things
as cold earh-wanderers never knew.
For there the babe is born in joy
that was begotten in dire woe,
just as we reap in joy the fruit
which we in bitter tears did sow.
And if the babe is born a boy
he's given to a woman old,
who nails him down upon a rock,
catches his shrieks in cups of gold.
She binds iron thorns around his head,
she pierces both his hands and feet,
she cuts his heart out at his side
to make it feel both cold and heat.
Her fingers number every nerve,
just as a miser counts his gold.
She lives upon his shrieks and cries,
and she grows young as he grows old,
till he becomes a bleeding youth,
and she becomes a virgin bright.
Then he rends up his manacles,
and binds her down for his delight.
He plans himself in all her nerves,
just as  a husbandman his mould,
and she becomes his dwelling-place,
and garden fruitful seventyfold.
An aged shadow soon he fades,
wand'ring round an earthly cot,
full filled all with gems and gold
which he by industry had got.
And these are the gems of the human soul,
the rubies and pearls of a lovesick eye,
the countless gold of the aching heart,
the martyr's groan, and the lover's sigh;
They are his meat, they are his drink.
He feeds the beggar and the poor,
and the wayfaring traveller;
For ever open is his door.
His grief is their eternal joy;
They make the roofs and walls to ring;
Till from the fire on the hearth
a little female babe does spring.
And she is all of solid fire,
and gems and gold, that none his hand
dares stretch to touch her baby form,
or wrap her in his swaddling-band.
But she comes to the man she loves,
if young or old, or rich or poor.
They soon drive out the aged host,
a beggar at another's door.
He wanders weeping far away,
until some other take him in;
Oft blind and age-bent, sore distressed,
until he can a maiden win.
And to allay his freezing age
the poor man takes her in his arms;
The cottage fades before his sight,
the garden and its lovely charms;
The guests are scattered through the land.
For the eye altering, alters all;
The senses roll themselves in fear,
and the flat earth becomes a ball;
The stars, sun, moon, all shrink away,
a desert vast without a bound---
and nothing left to eat or drink,
and a dark desert all around.
The honey of her infant lips,
the bread and wine of her sweet smile,
the wild game of her roving eye,
does him to infancy beguile.
For as he eats and drinks he grows
younger and younger every day;
And on the desert wild they both
wander in terror and dismay.
Like the wild stag she flees away;
Her fear plants many a thicket wild.
While he pursues her night and day,
by various arts of love beguiled,
by various arts of love and hate;
Till the wide desert planted o'er
with labyrinths of wayward love,
where roams the lion, wolf and boar;
Till he becomes a wayward babe,
and she a weeping woman old.
Then many a lover wanders here;
The sun and stars are bearer rolled;
The trees bring forth sweet ecstasy
to all who in the desert roam--
till many a city there is built,
and many a pleasant shepherd's home.
But when they find the frowning babe
terror strikes through the region wide.
They cry: the babe, the babe is born,
and flee away on every side.
For who dare touch the frowning form
his arm is withered to its root;
Lions, boars, wolves, all howling flee,
and every tree does shed its fruit.
And none can touch that frowning form,
except it be a woman old;
She nails him down upon the rock,
and all is done as I have told.
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I FEARED THE FURY

I feared the fury of my wind
would blight all blossoms fair and true;
And my sun it shined and shined,
and my wind it never blew.
But a blossom fair or true
was not found on any tree,
for all blossoms grew and grew
fruitless, false--though fair to see.
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King Biscuit Man