William Blake Poems

O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,
...

A flower was offered to me,
Such a flower as May never bore;
But I said 'I've a pretty rose tree,'
...

Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed,
By the stream and o'er the mead;
...

Love and harmony combine,
And round our souls entwine
While thy branches mix with mine,
And our roots together join.
...

Merry, merry sparrow!
Under leaves so green
A happy blossom
Sees you, swift as arrow,
...

And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
...

'I have no name;
I am but two days old.'
What shall I call thee?
...

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.
...

My mother groaned, my father wept,
Into the dangerous world I leapt;
Helpless, naked, piping loud,
...

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