O THOU with dewy locks, who lookest down Thro’ the clear windows of the morning, turn Thine angel eyes upon our western isle, Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring! The hills tell each other, and the list’ning Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turnèd Up to…
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‘O WINTER! bar thine adamantine doors: The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs, Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.’ He hears me not, but o’er the yawning deep Rides heavy; his storms are unchain’d, sheathèd In ribbèd steel; I…
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William Blake (1757–1827). Thou fair-hair’d angel of the evening, Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown Put on, and smile upon our evening bed! Smile on our loves, and while thou drawest the Blue curtains of the sky, scatter thy…
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Land of my fathers! to thy sacred shoreI come in sorrow from the stranger’s hill,Unlike my sires, who, in days of yore,Thou cherished aye, and loved to honour still.Scaithed by relentless fate with many an ill,A wanderer I come, and hailed by none.It was not so my fathers sought thy…
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Said God, “You sisters, ere ye go Down among men, my work to do, I will on each a badge bestow: Hope I love best, and gold for her, Yet a silver glory for Despair, For she is my angel too.” Then like a queen, Despair Put on the stars…
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William Blake (1757–1827). THE BELL struck one, and shook the silent tower; The graves give up their dead: fair Elenor Walk’d by the castle gate, and lookèd in. A hollow groan ran thro’ the dreary vaults. She shriek’d aloud, and sunk upon the steps, On the…
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William Blake (1757–1827). My silks and fine array, My smiles and languish’d air, By love are driv’n away; And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave; Such end true lovers have. His face is fair as heav’n When springing buds unfold; O why to him was ’t…
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William Blake (1757–1827). Prepare, prepare the iron helm of war, Bring forth the lots, cast in the spacious orb; Th’ Angel of Fate turns them with mighty hands, And casts them out upon the darken’d earth! Prepare, prepare! …
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Saint Anthony at church Was left in the lurch, So he went to the ditches And preached to the fishes. They wriggled their tails, In the sun glanced their scales. The carps, with their spawn, Are all thither drawn; Have opened their jaws, Eager for each clause. No sermon beside…
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WHETHER on Ida’s shady brow, Or in the chambers of the East, The chambers of the sun, that now From ancient melody have ceas’d; 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;…
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To W.S.B. When the grey evening spreads a calm around, Tell me, has thy bewilder’d fancy sought, Retir’d in some sequestered spot of ground, Rest, from the labour of eternal thought? When, wrapt in self, the soul enjoys repose, The wearied brain resigns its fervent heat, In…