Blake (Final Version) Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

[to William Blake the visionary poet, so illuminated) 1757-1827)

I saw you walking
the hills of green.
angels on either side of you, conversing
and cherry-bought bells resounding
in the dove-sought skies, such flame-tinged
clouds appearing:

yes, and the fleece of
skies that you loved once-
the cirrus roses...

you were so happy with an ink-stained smile-
peeling a scroll of topaz from
a frayed coat pocket,

meant for the martyred poets.
you said: don't cry anymore
all consternation's fled, don't cry,
no rose is dead.

art is a shining ship, delivered:
the choken river's spanned.
the mocking charter's been revoked.

they hoped your visions were a sinking sun
marked by three crosses on a stolen hill,
but the day is a flower endlessly fluted,

and cut in crystal now
where tygers kept their radiant promise-
where darkness is banished

to a farther castle and the
face of the Lamb is so revealed
whenever we are speaking in our
sheer unfiltered gold of a language

and we feel
we are still alive, my
bartered friend!

a bright wind drives your
mended sails toward home
with the diamond core of all your
poems received, the

heart of it believed in when you say
that all your trees are filled with singing now
where nothing, nothing is a bane
how

blazingly the Light
of every poem remains-

mary angela douglas 22 august 2011,2 december 2005,4 october 2023