Songs of Innocence and Experience: with Other PoemsBasil Montagu Pickering, 1866 - 108 ˹éÒ |
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˹éÒ vi
... Angel • The Little Girl Lost The Little Girl Found London To Tirzah The Human Abstract The Chimney Sweeper A Poison - tree A Little Girl Lost A Divine Image The Little Vagabond Page 45 46 47 48 49 50 • 51 53 55 57 58 59 62 65 66 67 69 ...
... Angel • The Little Girl Lost The Little Girl Found London To Tirzah The Human Abstract The Chimney Sweeper A Poison - tree A Little Girl Lost A Divine Image The Little Vagabond Page 45 46 47 48 49 50 • 51 53 55 57 58 59 62 65 66 67 69 ...
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... 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 ...
... 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 ...
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... angel who had a bright key , And he open'd 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 . Charles Lamb , who sent the above poem as a contribu- tion ...
... angel who had a bright key , And he open'd 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 . Charles Lamb , who sent the above poem as a contribu- tion ...
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... 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 . Tho ' the morning was cold Tom was happy and warm : So ...
... 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 . Tho ' the morning was cold Tom was happy and warm : So ...
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... angel mild , Hover o'er my happy child . Sweet smiles in the night Hover over my delight ; Sweet smiles , mother's smiles , All the livelong night beguiles . Sweet moans , dove - like sighs , Chase not slumber from thy eyes . Sweet ...
... angel mild , Hover o'er my happy child . Sweet smiles in the night Hover over my delight ; Sweet smiles , mother's smiles , All the livelong night beguiles . Sweet moans , dove - like sighs , Chase not slumber from thy eyes . Sweet ...
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admirably angel appear babe beauty becomes Bell bind birds Blake blossoms bore born bright called child Cloth cloud cold dark death deep delight devil divine dread Dreams edition Engraved Title EXPERIENCE eyes face fairy father fear feet fill'd fire flower Frontispiece frowning fruit garden gives gold golden grave green grief hair hand happy head hear heart heaven holy human infant John lamb land laugh light little boy live LOST Lyca maiden Mary merry mild morning mother never night o'er pale peace PICKERING pipe pity play pleasant poems poor Portrait pretty printed rise round seek shine sigh sing sleep smiles soft Songs of Innocence soon sorrow soul spring sweet tears tender thee thou thought Till tree trembling uncut voice vols wandering weep wept wild young youth
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˹éÒ 6 - 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!
˹éÒ 20 - 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.
˹éÒ 63 - I wander thro' each charter'd street Near where the charter'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 Palace walls; But most thro' midnight streets I hear How the youthful Harlot's curse Blasts the new born Infant's tear.
˹éÒ 1 - Piping down the valleys 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 :
˹éÒ 48 - 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.
˹éÒ 5 - Softest clothing, woolly, bright ; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice? Little lamb, who made thee ? Dost thou know who made thee ? Little...
˹éÒ 51 - 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?
˹éÒ 52 - Did He smile His work to see? Did He who made the lamb make thee?
˹éÒ 18 - Thames waters flow. O what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town! Seated in companies they sit, with radiance all their own. The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs, Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands. Now like a mighty 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.
˹éÒ 105 - The door of death is made of gold, That mortal eyes cannot behold ; But when the mortal eyes are closed, And cold and pale the limbs reposed, The soul awakes, and wondering sees In her mild hand the golden keys.