William Blake

(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827 / London)

William Blake Poems

41. Jerusalem: England! Awake! Awake! Awake! 5/9/2001
42. The Song Of Los 1/3/2003
43. To Tirzah 1/3/2003
44. To The Accuser Who Is The God Of This World 1/3/2003
45. The Grey Monk 5/10/2001
46. How Sweet I Roam'D 1/3/2003
47. Why Should I Care For The Men Of Thames 1/3/2003
48. The Everlasting Gospel 1/1/2004
49. The Shepherd 1/3/2003
50. Now Art Has Lost Its Mental Charms 1/3/2003
51. Hear The Voice 1/4/2003
52. The Little Girl Found 1/13/2003
53. To The Muses 5/10/2001
54. The Little Vagabond 12/31/2002
55. Several Questions Answered 1/13/2003
56. England! Awake! Awake! Awake! 1/1/2004
57. From Milton: And Did Those Feet 1/20/2003
58. Holy Thursday (Innocence) 1/13/2003
59. I Heard An Angel 5/9/2001
60. Hear The Voice Of The Bard 5/9/2001
61. Gwin King Of Norway 1/3/2003
62. Songs Of Experience: Introduction 1/13/2003
63. Fair Elanor 1/3/2003
64. The Angel That Presided O'Er My Birth 1/3/2003
65. I Rose Up At The Dawn Of Day 1/3/2003
66. The Little Boy Lost 12/31/2002
67. Sleep! Sleep! Beauty Bright 5/9/2001
68. To Morning 1/3/2003
69. Introduction To The Songs Of Innocence 5/9/2001
70. The Chimney Sweeper: A Little Black Thing Among The Snow 5/9/2001
71. But In The Wine-Presses The Human Grapes Sing Not Nor Dance 1/1/2004
72. Holy Thursday (Experience) 1/13/2003
73. The Marriage Of Heaven And Hell 5/10/2001
74. The Clod And The Pebble 5/9/2001
75. To See 3/30/2010
76. To Autumn 1/3/2003
77. Mock On, Mock On, Voltaire, Rousseau 1/3/2003
78. To Spring 5/10/2001
79. The Voice Of The Ancient Bard 1/3/2003
80. The Lily 5/10/2001
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.

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