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.Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,And thy Maker is not by:Think not thou canst weep a tear,And thy Maker is not year.Oh He gives to us his joy,That our grief He may destroy:Till our grief is fled an goneHe doth sit by us and moan.William Blakewww.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 120 Piping Down the Valleys WildPiping 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 cheer.'Piper, pipe that song again.'So I piped: he wept to hear.'Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;Sing thy songs of happy cheer.'So I sung the same again,While he wept with joy to hear.'Piper, sit thee down and writeIn a book, that all may read.'So he vanished from my sight,And I plucked a hollow reed,And I made a rural pen,And I stained the water clear,And I wrote my happy songsEvery child may joy to hear.William Blakewww.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 121 Preludium to AmericaThe 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 a helmet and dark hair the nameless female stood;A quiver with its burning stores, a bow like that of night,When pestilence is shot from heaven: no other arms she need!Invulnerable though naked, save where clouds roll round her loinsTheir awful folds in the dark air: silent she stood as night;For never from her iron tongue could voice or sound arise,But dumb till that dread day when Orc assay'd his fierce embrace.'Dark Virgin,' said the hairy youth, 'thy father stern, abhorr'd,Rivets my tenfold chains while still on high my spirit soars;Sometimes an Eagle screaming in the sky, sometimes a LionStalking upon the mountains, and sometimes a Whale, I lashThe raging fathomless abyss; anon a Serpent foldingAround the pillars of Urthona, and round thy dark limbsOn the Canadian wilds I fold; feeble my spirit folds,For chain'd beneath I rend these caverns: when thou bringest foodI howl my joy, and my red eyes seek to behold thy face--In vain! these clouds roll to and fro, and hide thee from my sight.'Silent as despairing love, and strong as jealousy,The hairy shoulders rend the links; free are the wrists of fire;Round the terrific loins he seiz'd the panting, struggling womb;It joy'd: she put aside her clouds and smiled her first-born smile,As when a black cloud shews its lightnings to the silent deep.Soon as she saw the terrible boy, then burst the virgin cry:'I know thee, I have found thee, and I will not let thee go:Thou art the image of God who dwells in darkness of Africa,And thou art fall'n to give me life in regions of dark death.On my American plains I feel the struggling afflictionsEndur'd by roots that writhe their arms into the nether deep.I see a Serpent in Canada who courts me to his love,In Mexico an Eagle, and a Lion in Peru;I see a Whale in the south-sea, drinking my soul away.O what limb-rending pains I feel! thy fire and my frostMingle in howling pains, in furrows by thy lightnings rent.This is eternal death, and this the torment long foretold.'William Blakewww.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 122 Preludium to EuropeThe nameless shadowy female rose from out the breast of Orc,Her snaky hair brandishing in the winds of Enitharmon;And thus her voice arose:'O mother Enitharmon, wilt thou bring forth other sons?To cause my name to vanish, that my place may not be found,For I am faint with travail,Like the dark cloud disburden'd in the day of dismal thunder.My roots are brandish'd in the heavens, my fruits in earth beneathSurge, foam and labour into life, first born and first consum'd!Consumed and consuming!Then why shouldst thou, accursed mother, bring me into life?I wrap my turban of thick clouds around my lab'ring head,And fold the sheety waters as a mantle round my limbs;Yet the red sun and moonAnd all the overflowing stars rain down prolific pains [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,And thy Maker is not by:Think not thou canst weep a tear,And thy Maker is not year.Oh He gives to us his joy,That our grief He may destroy:Till our grief is fled an goneHe doth sit by us and moan.William Blakewww.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 120 Piping Down the Valleys WildPiping 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 cheer.'Piper, pipe that song again.'So I piped: he wept to hear.'Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;Sing thy songs of happy cheer.'So I sung the same again,While he wept with joy to hear.'Piper, sit thee down and writeIn a book, that all may read.'So he vanished from my sight,And I plucked a hollow reed,And I made a rural pen,And I stained the water clear,And I wrote my happy songsEvery child may joy to hear.William Blakewww.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 121 Preludium to AmericaThe 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 a helmet and dark hair the nameless female stood;A quiver with its burning stores, a bow like that of night,When pestilence is shot from heaven: no other arms she need!Invulnerable though naked, save where clouds roll round her loinsTheir awful folds in the dark air: silent she stood as night;For never from her iron tongue could voice or sound arise,But dumb till that dread day when Orc assay'd his fierce embrace.'Dark Virgin,' said the hairy youth, 'thy father stern, abhorr'd,Rivets my tenfold chains while still on high my spirit soars;Sometimes an Eagle screaming in the sky, sometimes a LionStalking upon the mountains, and sometimes a Whale, I lashThe raging fathomless abyss; anon a Serpent foldingAround the pillars of Urthona, and round thy dark limbsOn the Canadian wilds I fold; feeble my spirit folds,For chain'd beneath I rend these caverns: when thou bringest foodI howl my joy, and my red eyes seek to behold thy face--In vain! these clouds roll to and fro, and hide thee from my sight.'Silent as despairing love, and strong as jealousy,The hairy shoulders rend the links; free are the wrists of fire;Round the terrific loins he seiz'd the panting, struggling womb;It joy'd: she put aside her clouds and smiled her first-born smile,As when a black cloud shews its lightnings to the silent deep.Soon as she saw the terrible boy, then burst the virgin cry:'I know thee, I have found thee, and I will not let thee go:Thou art the image of God who dwells in darkness of Africa,And thou art fall'n to give me life in regions of dark death.On my American plains I feel the struggling afflictionsEndur'd by roots that writhe their arms into the nether deep.I see a Serpent in Canada who courts me to his love,In Mexico an Eagle, and a Lion in Peru;I see a Whale in the south-sea, drinking my soul away.O what limb-rending pains I feel! thy fire and my frostMingle in howling pains, in furrows by thy lightnings rent.This is eternal death, and this the torment long foretold.'William Blakewww.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 122 Preludium to EuropeThe nameless shadowy female rose from out the breast of Orc,Her snaky hair brandishing in the winds of Enitharmon;And thus her voice arose:'O mother Enitharmon, wilt thou bring forth other sons?To cause my name to vanish, that my place may not be found,For I am faint with travail,Like the dark cloud disburden'd in the day of dismal thunder.My roots are brandish'd in the heavens, my fruits in earth beneathSurge, foam and labour into life, first born and first consum'd!Consumed and consuming!Then why shouldst thou, accursed mother, bring me into life?I wrap my turban of thick clouds around my lab'ring head,And fold the sheety waters as a mantle round my limbs;Yet the red sun and moonAnd all the overflowing stars rain down prolific pains [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]