The Poems: With Specimens of the Prose Writings, of William BlakeW. Scott, limited, 1885 - 282 ˹éÒ This book collects Blake's famous and unique writings along with a biographical and critical introduction. |
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˹éÒ 22
... gold . his condition at times would seem miserable enough to those to whom life would be a blank if they had not a fine house to live in , a fine carriage to ride in , and all that goes to form the beau ideal of life to the vulgar mind ...
... gold . his condition at times would seem miserable enough to those to whom life would be a blank if they had not a fine house to live in , a fine carriage to ride in , and all that goes to form the beau ideal of life to the vulgar mind ...
˹éÒ 66
... For them the eagles strive . The river Dorman rolled their blood Into the northern sea ; Who mourned his sons , and overwhelmed The pleasant south country . AN IMITATION OF SPENSER . GOLD OLDEN Apollo , that 66 BLAKE'S POEMS .
... For them the eagles strive . The river Dorman rolled their blood Into the northern sea ; Who mourned his sons , and overwhelmed The pleasant south country . AN IMITATION OF SPENSER . GOLD OLDEN Apollo , that 66 BLAKE'S POEMS .
˹éÒ 67
... GOLD OLDEN Apollo , that through heaven wide Scatter'st the rays of light , and truth his beams , In lucent words my darkling voices dight , And wash my earthly mind in thy clear streams , That wisdom may descend in fairy dreams , All ...
... GOLD OLDEN Apollo , that through heaven wide Scatter'st the rays of light , and truth his beams , In lucent words my darkling voices dight , And wash my earthly mind in thy clear streams , That wisdom may descend in fairy dreams , All ...
˹éÒ 76
... Decked in mild sorrow ; and sell thy lord for gold . For now , upon her sumptuous couch reclined In gorgeous pride , she still entreats , and still She grasps his vigorous knees with her fair arms . 76 BLAKE'S POEMS .
... Decked in mild sorrow ; and sell thy lord for gold . For now , upon her sumptuous couch reclined In gorgeous pride , she still entreats , and still She grasps his vigorous knees with her fair arms . 76 BLAKE'S POEMS .
˹éÒ 87
... gold That never tarnishes : whether Third Edward , Or the Prince of Wales , or Montacute , or Mortimer , Or ev'n the least by birth , shall gain the brightest fame , Is in His hand to whom all men are equal . The world of men are like ...
... gold That never tarnishes : whether Third Edward , Or the Prince of Wales , or Montacute , or Mortimer , Or ev'n the least by birth , shall gain the brightest fame , Is in His hand to whom all men are equal . The world of men are like ...
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Albert Durer angel Anne Hathaway arms artist AUDLEY babe beauty beneath Blake Blake's blood blossoms breast bright brow Chandos character Chaucer clothed clouds colour dark death delight dost doth earth echoing green Emanuel Swedenborg eternal eyes fair father fear feet field fire flowers frowning fruit genius gold golden groan Gwin hand happy hath head hear heard heart heaven Henry Baillie holy HOLY THURSDAY human infant JOSEPH SKIPSEY KING lamb land laugh light lion Lord Lyca merry morning mother never night o'er Painter pale pity poet Prince Queen QUEEN PHILIPPA Robert Moffat round shining sigh silent sing sleep smile song Songs of Experience sorrow soul sweet tears tell thee Thel thine thou tigers Titian tree trembling vales voice walk wandered weep wept wife Wife of Bath wild William William Blake wings youth
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˹éÒ 170 - 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? When the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with their tears, Did He smile His work to see?...
˹éÒ 12 - To HELEN Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome.
˹éÒ 141 - 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.
˹éÒ 175 - 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 178 - 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...
˹éÒ 148 - Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down, And the dews of night arise ; Come, come, leave off play, and let us away, Till the morning appears in the skies.
˹éÒ 58 - Whether in Heaven ye wander fair, Or the green corners of the earth, Or the blue regions of the air Where the melodious winds have birth...
˹éÒ 133 - I am black, as if bereav'd 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 morning, joy in the noon day.
˹éÒ 224 - 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 206 - The hand of Vengeance found the bed To which the purple tyrant fled; The iron hand crush'd the tyrant's head, And became a tyrant in his stead.' 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 an hour. A robin redbreast in a cage Puts all Heaven in a rage. A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons Shudders Hell thro