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    Poems of William Blake
    Poems of William Blake
    Poems of William Blake
    Ebook92 pages35 minutes

    Poems of William Blake

    By William Blake

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 27, 2013
    Author

    William Blake

    William Blake was born in London in 1757. He was apprenticed to a master engraver and then studied at the Royal Academy under the guidance of Joshua Reynolds. In 1789 he engraved and published Songs of Innocence and the contrasting Songs of Experience came later in 1794. A poet, painter and printmaker of great originality and imagination, his work was largely unrecognized during his lifetime and he struggled to make a living. Blake is now considered a seminal figure in the history of both the poetry and visual arts of the Romantic Age. He died in 1827.

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      Book preview

      Poems of William Blake - William Blake

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems of William Blake, by William Blake

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: Poems of William Blake

      Author: William Blake

      Posting Date: July 30, 2008 [EBook #574] Release Date: June, 1996

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF WILLIAM BLAKE ***

      Poems of William Blake

      by

      William Blake

      SONGS OF INNOCENCE AND OF EXPERIENCE

      and

      THE BOOK of THEL

      SONGS OF INNOCENCE

      INTRODUCTION

         Piping down the valleys wild,

           Piping songs of pleasant glee,

         On a cloud I saw a child,

           And he laughing said to me:

         Pipe a song about a Lamb!

           So I piped with merry cheer.

         Piper, pipe that song again;

           So I piped: he wept to hear.

         "Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;

           Sing thy songs of happy cheer!"

         So I sang the same again,

           While he wept with joy to hear.

         "Piper, sit thee down and write

           In a book, that all may read."

         So he vanish'd from my sight;

           And I pluck'd a hollow reed,

         And I made a rural pen,

           And I stain'd the water clear,

         And I wrote my happy songs

           Every child may joy to hear.

      THE SHEPHERD

         How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot!

         From the morn to the evening he stays;

         He shall follow his sheep all the day,

         And his tongue shall be filled with praise.

         For he hears the lambs' innocent call,

         And he hears the ewes' tender reply;

         He is watching while they are in peace,

         For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.

      THE ECHOING GREEN

         The sun does arise,

         And make happy the skies;

         The merry bells ring

         To welcome the Spring;

         The skylark and thrush,

         The birds of the bush,

         Sing louder around

         To the bells' cheerful sound;

         While our sports shall be seen

         On the echoing Green.

         Old John, with white hair,

         Does laugh away care,

         Sitting under the oak,

         Among the old folk.

         They laugh at our play,

         And soon they all say,

         "Such, such were the joys

         When we all—girls and boys—

         In our youth-time were seen

         On the echoing Green."

         Till the little ones, weary,

         No more can be merry:

         The sun does descend,

         And our sports have an end.

         Round the laps of their mothers

         Many sisters and brothers,

         Like birds in their nest,

         Are ready for rest,

         And sport no more seen

         On the darkening green.

      THE LAMB

           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;

         Gave thee clothing of delight,

         Softest clothing, woolly, bright;

         Gave thee such a tender voice,

         Making all the vales rejoice?

           Little Lamb, who made thee?

           Dost thou know who

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