Life of William Blake, "Pictor Ignotus": With Selections from His Poems and Other WritingsMacmillan and Company, 1863 - 389 ˹éÒ |
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˹éÒ 11
... round The curtains of the sky , scatter thy dew On every flower that closes its sweet eyes In timely sleep . Let thy west wind sleep on The lake ; speak silence with thy glimmering eyes , And wash the dusk with silver . Soon , full soon ...
... round The curtains of the sky , scatter thy dew On every flower that closes its sweet eyes In timely sleep . Let thy west wind sleep on The lake ; speak silence with thy glimmering eyes , And wash the dusk with silver . Soon , full soon ...
˹éÒ 15
... round , Sukey is tumbled on the ground ! See what it is to play unfair ! Where cheating is , there's mischief there . But Roger still pursues the chace , - ' He sees ! he sees ! ' cries softly Grace . O Roger , thou , unskill'd in art ...
... round , Sukey is tumbled on the ground ! See what it is to play unfair ! Where cheating is , there's mischief there . But Roger still pursues the chace , - ' He sees ! he sees ! ' cries softly Grace . O Roger , thou , unskill'd in art ...
˹éÒ 20
... round vast Nature's forest , where no bounds Are set ; the swiftest may have room , the strongest Find prey ; till , tir'd at length , sated and tir'd With the still changing sameness , old variety , We sit us down , and view our former ...
... round vast Nature's forest , where no bounds Are set ; the swiftest may have room , the strongest Find prey ; till , tir'd at length , sated and tir'd With the still changing sameness , old variety , We sit us down , and view our former ...
˹éÒ 21
... round the snowy head , and keep Sweet symphony to feather'd angels sitting As guardians round your chair ; then shall the pulse Beat slow ; and taste and touch , sight , sound , and smell , That sing and dance round Reason's fine ...
... round the snowy head , and keep Sweet symphony to feather'd angels sitting As guardians round your chair ; then shall the pulse Beat slow ; and taste and touch , sight , sound , and smell , That sing and dance round Reason's fine ...
˹éÒ 28
... Round the laps of their mothers Many sisters and brothers , Like birds in their nest , Are ready for rest , And sport no more seen On the darkening green . THE LAMB . LITTLE lamb , who made thee ? 28 SELECTIONS FROM BLAKE'S WRITINGS ...
... Round the laps of their mothers Many sisters and brothers , Like birds in their nest , Are ready for rest , And sport no more seen On the darkening green . THE LAMB . LITTLE lamb , who made thee ? 28 SELECTIONS FROM BLAKE'S WRITINGS ...
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Adam and Eve Alex ancient angels appears Artist babe beautiful beneath Butts Caiaphas called Capaneus Capt character Chaucer Christ cloud colour Colour-printed Correggio Court Strand Dante dark Death delight devils divine doth drawing earth engraved envy eternal execution expression eyes face father fear Felpham female figures finished fire flames Gilchrist Giulio Romano grand Grave ground hand Harvey head heaven Hell Henry Baillie Holy human Indian ink infant invention kneeling labour Last Judgment light Linnell look Mary Michael Angelo morning naked never night Painter painting Palser picture Plates poem printed Prophetic Books Raphael Rembrandt represented Rubens Satan seen serpent sketch sleep smile song soul spirit Strange sweet tears Tempera thee things Thomas Dagworth thou Titian tree Virgin vision water-colour weep wife Wife of Bath WILLIAM BLAKE woman Woolett young youth
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˹éÒ 206 - When Jesus therefore saw his mother, and the disciple standing by whom he loved, he saith unto his mother, "Woman, behold thy son!" Then saith he to the disciple, "Behold thy mother!" And from that hour that disciple took her unto his own home.
˹éÒ 65 - I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow. And I water'd it in fears, Night & 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...
˹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 227 - And when they had sung an hymn, they went out into the mount of Olives. And Jesus saith unto them, All ye shall be offended because of me this night : for it is written, I will smite the shepherd, and the sheep shall be scattered. But after that I am risen, I will go before you into Galilee.
˹éÒ 61 - 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...
˹éÒ 94 - 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
˹éÒ 105 - Mock on' Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau; Mock on, mock on: 'tis all in vain! You throw the sand against the wind, And 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.
˹éÒ 59 - 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 60 - AH! SUN-FLOWER Ah, sun-flower, weary of time, Who countest the steps of the sun, Seeking after that sweet golden clime 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 sun-flower wishes to go.
˹éÒ 96 - Every Night and every Morn Some to Misery are Born. Every Morn and every Night Some are Born to sweet delight. Some are Born to sweet delight, Some are Born to Endless Night. We are led to Believe a Lie When we see not Thro...