William Blake Poems

Little Fly,
Thy summer's play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away.
...

i

My spectre around me night and day
Like a wild beast guards my way;
...

Rintrah roars and shakes his
fires in the burdenM air,
Hungry clouds swag on the deep.
...

The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,
The humble sheep a threat'ning horn:
While the Lily white shall in love delight,
Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.
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Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau;
Mock on, mock on; 'tis all in vain!
You throw the sand against the wind,
And the wind blows it back again.
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A little black thing in the snow,
Crying 'weep! weep! ' in notes of woe!
'Where are thy father and mother? Say! '-
'They are both gone up to the church to pray.
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Youth of delight, come hither,
And see the opening morn,
Image of truth new born.
Doubt is fled, & clouds of reason,
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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
Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld
With joy thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.
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'Father, father, where are you going?
Oh do not walk so fast!
Speak, father, speak to you little boy,
Or else I shall be lost.'
...

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.
...