William Blake Poems

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.
...

When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy,
And the dimpling stream runs laughing by;
When the air does laugh with our merry wit,
And the green hill laughs with the noise
...

Thou fair-haired 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!
...

My mother bore me in the southern wild,
And I am black, but oh my soul is white!
White as an angel is the English child,
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You don't believe - I won't attempt to make ye:
You are asleep - I won't attempt to wake ye.
Sleep on! sleep on! while in your pleasant dreams
Of Reason you may drink of Life's clear streams.
...

The little boy lost in the lonely fen,
Led by the wandering light,
Began to cry, but God, ever nigh,
Appeared like his father, in white.
...

The Sun arises in the East,
Cloth'd in robes of blood and gold;
Swords and spears and wrath increast
All around his bosom roll'd
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When voices of children are heard on the green
And laughing is heard on the hill,
My heart is at rest within my breast
And everything else is still
...

Sleep, sleep, beauty bright,
Dreaming in the joys of night;
Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.
...

I heard an Angel singing
When the day was springing,
'Mercy, Pity, Peace
Is the world's release.'
...