The Voice Of The Ancient Bard
Youth of delight come hither. And see the opening morn, Image of truth new born. Doubt is fled & clouds of reason. Dark disputes & artful teazing, Folly is an endless maze, Tangled roots
The Book of Urizen: Chapter IX
1. Then the Inhabitants of those Cities: Felt their Nerves change into Marrow And hardening Bones began In swift diseases and torments, In throbbings & shootings & grindings Thro’ all the coasts; till weaken’d
The Lamb
Little Lamb, who made thee Does thou know who made thee Gave thee life & bid thee feed. By the stream & o’er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing woolly bright;
The Human Abstract
Pity would be no more, If we did not make somebody Poor; And Mercy no more could be. If all were as happy as we; And mutual fear brings peace; Till the selfish loves
To Summer
O thou who passest thro’ our valleys in Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat That flames from their large nostrils! thou, O Summer, Oft pitched’st here thy goldent tent, and oft
Love's Secret
Never seek to tell thy love, Love that never told can be; For the gentle wind doth move Silently, invisibly. I told my love, I told my love, I told her all my heart,
Silent, Silent Night
Silent, silent night, Quench the holy light Of thy torches bright; For possessed of Day Thousand spirits stray That sweet joys betray. Why should joys be sweet Used with deceit, Nor with sorrows meet?
The Clod & The Pebble
Love seeketh not Itself to please. Nor for itself hath any care; But for another gives its ease. And builds a Heaven in Hells despair. So sung a little Clod of Clay, Trodden with
The Lilly
The modest Rose puts forth a thorn: The humble Sheep. a threatning horn: While the Lily white, shall in Love delight, Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright
Song: Memory, hither come
Memory, hither come, And tune your merry notes; And, while upon the wind Your music floats, I’ll pore upon the stream Where sighing lovers dream, And fish for fancies as they pass Within the
Gwin King of Norway
Come, kings, and listen to my song: When Gwin, the son of Nore, Over the nations of the North His cruel sceptre bore; The nobles of the land did feed Upon the hungry poor;
To Tirzah
Whate’er is Born of Mortal Birth, Must be consumed with the Earth To rise from Generation free: Then what have I to do with thee? The Sexes sprung from Shame & Pride Blowd in
The Book of Thel
THEL’S MOTTO 1 Does the Eagle know what is in the pit? 2 Or wilt thou go ask the Mole? 3 Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod? 4 Or Love in a
Reeds of Innocence
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!’ So I piped with merry
Infant Sorrow
My mother groand! my father wept, Into the dangerous world I leapt: Helpless, naked, piping loud: Like a fiend hid in a cloud. Struggling in my fathers hands: Striving against my swaddling bands: Bound