The Everlasting Gospel
The vision of Christ that thou dost see Is my vision’s greatest enemy. Thine has a great hook nose like thine; Mine has a snub nose like to mine. Thine is the Friend of
Holy Thursday (Innocence)
Twas on a Holy Thursday their innocent faces clean The children walking two & two in red & blue & green Grey headed beadles walked before with wands as white as snow Till into
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
Preludium to America
The shadowy Daughter of Urthona stood before red Orc, When fourteen suns had faintly journey’d o’er his dark abode: His food she brought in iron baskets, his drink in cups of iron: Crown’d with
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
The Little Black Boy
My mother bore me in the southern wild, And I am black, but O! my soul is white. White as an angel is the English child: But I am black as if bereav’d of
From Milton: And did those feet
And did those feet in ancient time Walk upon England’s mountains green? And was the holy Lamb of God On England’s pleasant pastures seen? And did the Countenance Divine Shine forth upon our clouded
Why Should I Care for the Men of Thames
Why should I care for the men of thames Or the cheating waves of charter’d streams Or shrink at the little blasts of fear That the hireling blows into my ear Tho born on
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:
Hear the Voice
HEAR the voice of the Bard, Who present, past, and future, sees; Whose ears have heard The Holy Word That walk’d among the ancient trees; Calling the lapsed soul, And weeping in the evening
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. “O, what land is the Land of Dreams? What
Now Art Has Lost Its Mental Charms
‘Now Art has lost its mental charms France shall subdue the world in arms.’ So spoke an Angel at my birth; Then said ‘Descend thou upon earth, Renew the Arts on Britain’s shore, And
Song
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
To Spring
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
The Garden Of Love
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