William Blake

(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827 / London)

William Blake Poems

121. The Wild Flower's Song 5/10/2001
122. Three Things To Remember 1/3/2003
123. To Autumn 1/3/2003
124. To Morning 1/3/2003
125. To Nobodaddy 1/3/2003
126. To See 3/30/2010
127. To Spring 5/10/2001
128. To Summer 5/10/2001
129. To The Accuser Who Is The God Of This World 1/3/2003
130. To The Evening Star 1/3/2003
131. To The Muses 5/10/2001
132. To Thomas Butts 1/1/2004
133. To Tirzah 1/3/2003
134. To Winter 1/3/2003
135. When Klopstock England Defied 1/3/2003
136. Why Should I Care For The Men Of Thames 1/3/2003
137. Why Was Cupid A Boy 1/3/2003
138. You Don'T Believe 1/3/2003
Best Poem of William Blake

A Poison Tree

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine.
And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

Read the full of A Poison Tree

Why Was Cupid A Boy

Why was Cupid a boy,
And why a boy was he?
He should have been a girl,
For aught that I can see.

For he shoots with his bow,
And the girl shoots with her eye,
And they both are merry and glad,
And laugh when we do cry.

[Hata Bildir]