TO RETURN TO 19TH CENTURY POEMS, PAGE 1 [CLICK HERE]
Read by Allen Ginsburg:
Ah! Sun-flower
Ah Sun-flower! weary of time, Who countest the steps of the Sun: Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the travellers journey is done.
Where the Youth pined away with desire, And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow: Arise from their graves and aspire, Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.
by William Blake, 1757-1827
Read by Martin Harris:
The Sick Rose
O Rose thou art sick. The invisible worm, That flies in the night In the howling storm:
Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy: And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy.
by William Blake, 1757-1827
Read by Ralph Richardson:
I Saw a Chapel All of Gold
I saw a chapel all of gold That none did dare to enter in And many weeping stood without Weeping mourning worshipping
I saw a serpent rise between The white pillars of the door And he forcd & forcd & forcd Down the golden hinges tore
And along the pavement sweet Set with pearls and rubies bright All his slimy length he drew Till upon the altar white
Vomiting his poison out On the bread & on the wine So I turnd into a sty And laid me down among the swine
by William Blake, 1757-1827
JERUSALEM [excerpt from the poem MILTON]
And did those feet in ancient time Walk upon Englands mountains green: And was the holy Lamb of God, On Englands pleasant pastures seen!
And did the Countenance Divine, Shine forth upon our clouded hills? And was Jerusalem builded here, Among these dark Satanic Mills?
Bring me my Bow of burning gold: Bring me my arrows of desire: Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold! Bring me my Chariot of fire!
I will not cease from Mental Fight, Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand: Till we have built Jerusalem, In Englands green & pleasant Land.
by William Blake, 1757-1827
Source: Preface to Milton a Poem. (1810)
Reader unknown:
The Clod and the Pebble
"Love seeketh not itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care, But for another gives its ease, And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair."
So sung a little Clod of Clay Trodden with the cattle's feet, But a Pebble of the brook Warbled out these metres meet:
"Love seeketh only self to please, To bind another to its delight, Joys in another's loss of ease, And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite."
by William Blake, 1757-1827
ETERNITY
He who binds to himself a joy Does the winged life destroy; But he who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity's sun rise.
by William Blake, 1757-1827
THE LITTLE VAGABOND
Dear mother, dear mother, the church is cold, But the ale-house is healthy and pleasant and warm; Besides I can tell where I am used well, Such usage in Heaven will never do well.
But if at the church they would give us some ale, And a pleasant fire our souls to regale, We'd sing and we'd pray all the live-long day, Nor ever once wish from the church to stray.
Then the parson might preach, and drink, and sing, And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring; And modest Dame Lurch, who is always at church, Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch.
And God, like a father rejoicing to see His children as pleasant and happy as he, Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the barrel, But kiss him, and give him both drink and apparel.
by William Blake, 1757-1827
I Asked A Thief To Steal Me A Peach
I asked a thief to steal me a peach: He turned up his eyes. I ask'd a lithe lady to lie her down: Holy & meek she cries.
As soon as I went an angel came: He wink'd at the thief And smil'd at the dame,
And without one word said Had a peach from the tree, And still as a maid Enjoy'd the Lady.
by William Blake, 1757-1827
THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER
(from The Songs of Experience)
A little black thing among 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.
Because I was happy upon the heath, And smil'd among the winter's snow, They clothed me in the clothes of death, And taught me to sing the notes of woe.
And because I am happy and dance and sing, They think they have done me no injury, And are gone to praise God and his Priest and King, Who make up a heaven of our misery.'
by William Blake, 1757-1827
MOCK ON, MOCK ON, VOLTAIRE, ROUSSEAU
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.
And every sand becomes a gem Reflected in the beams divine; Blown back they blind the mocking eye, But still in Israel's paths they shine.
The Atoms of Democritus And Newton's Particles of Light Are sands upon the Red Sea shore, Where Israel's tents do shine so bright.
by William Blake, 1757-1827
Read by Martin Harris:
THE FLY
Little Fly, Thy summer's play My thoughtless hand Has brushed away.
Am not I A fly like thee? Or art not thou A man like me?
For I dance And drink, and sing, Till some blind hand Shall brush my wing.
If thought is life And strength and breath And the want Of thought is death;
Then am I A happy fly, If I live, Or if I die.
by William Blake, 1757-1827
The recording below is part of the Blake Voice project of the Blake Society.
Read by Jim Newcombe:
Auguries of Innocence
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
A Robin Red breast in a Cage Puts all Heaven in a Rage A Dove house filld with Doves & Pigeons Shudders Hell thr' all its regions A dog starvd at his Masters Gate Predicts the ruin of the State A Horse misusd upon the Road Calls to Heaven for Human blood Each outcry of the hunted Hare A fibre from the Brain does tear A Skylark wounded on the wing A Cherubim does cease to sing The Game Cock clipd & armd for fight Does the Rising Sun affright Every Wolfs & Lions howl Raises from Hell a Human Soul The wild deer, wandring here & there Keeps the Human Soul from Care The Lamb misusd breeds Public Strife And yet forgives the Butchers knife The Bat that flits at close of Eve Has left the Brain that wont Believe The Owl that calls upon the Night Speaks the Unbelievers fright He who shall hurt the little Wren Shall never be belovd by Men He who the Ox to wrath has movd Shall never be by Woman lovd The wanton Boy that kills the Fly Shall feel the Spiders enmity He who torments the Chafers Sprite Weaves a Bower in endless Night The Catterpiller on the Leaf Repeats to thee thy Mothers grief Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly For the Last Judgment draweth nigh He who shall train the Horse to War Shall never pass the Polar Bar The Beggars Dog & Widows Cat Feed them & thou wilt grow fat The Gnat that sings his Summers Song Poison gets from Slanders tongue The poison of the Snake & Newt Is the sweat of Envys Foot The poison of the Honey Bee Is the Artists Jealousy The Princes Robes & Beggars Rags Are Toadstools on the Misers Bags A Truth thats told with bad intent Beats all the Lies you can invent It is right it should be so Man was made for Joy & Woe And when this we rightly know Thro the World we safely go Joy & Woe are woven fine A Clothing for the soul divine Under every grief & pine Runs a joy with silken twine The Babe is more than swadling Bands Throughout all these Human Lands Tools were made & Born were hands Every Farmer Understands Every Tear from Every Eye Becomes a Babe in Eternity This is caught by Females bright And returnd to its own delight The Bleat the Bark Bellow & Roar Are Waves that Beat on Heavens Shore The Babe that weeps the Rod beneath Writes Revenge in realms of Death The Beggars Rags fluttering in Air Does to Rags the Heavens tear The Soldier armd with Sword & Gun Palsied strikes the Summers Sun The poor Mans Farthing is worth more Than all the Gold on Africs Shore One Mite wrung from the Labrers hands Shall buy & sell the Misers Lands Or if protected from on high Does that whole Nation sell & buy He who mocks the Infants Faith Shall be mockd in Age & Death He who shall teach the Child to Doubt The rotting Grave shall neer get out He who respects the Infants faith Triumphs over Hell & Death The Childs Toys & the Old Mans Reasons Are the Fruits of the Two seasons The Questioner who sits so sly Shall never know how to Reply He who replies to words of Doubt Doth put the Light of Knowledge out The Strongest Poison ever known Came from Caesars Laurel Crown Nought can Deform the Human Race Like to the Armours iron brace When Gold & Gems adorn the Plow To peaceful Arts shall Envy Bow A Riddle or the Crickets Cry Is to Doubt a fit Reply The Emmets Inch & Eagles Mile Make Lame Philosophy to smile He who Doubts from what he sees Will neer Believe do what you Please If the Sun & Moon should Doubt Theyd immediately Go out To be in a Passion you Good may Do But no Good if a Passion is in you The Whore & Gambler by the State Licencd build that Nations Fate The Harlots cry from Street to Street Shall weave Old Englands winding Sheet The Winners Shout the Losers Curse Dance before dead Englands Hearse Every Night & every Morn Some to Misery are Born Every Morn and every Night Some are Born to sweet delight Some are Born to sweet delight Some are Born to Endless Night We are led to Believe a Lie When we see not Thro the Eye Which was Born in a Night to perish in a Night When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light God Appears & God is Light To those poor Souls who dwell in Night But does a Human Form Display To those who Dwell in Realms of day
by William Blake, 1757-1827
Source: Poets of the English Language (Viking Press, 1950)
Holy Thursday (Songs of Experience)
Is this a holy thing to see, In a rich and fruitful land, Babes reducd to misery, Fed with cold and usurous hand?
Is that trembling cry a song? Can it be a song of joy? And so many children poor? It is a land of poverty!
And their sun does never shine. And their fields are bleak & bare. And their ways are fill'd with thorns. It is eternal winter there.
For where-e'er the sun does shine, And where-e'er the rain does fall: Babe can never hunger there, Nor poverty the mind appall.
by William Blake, 1757-1827
Holy Thursday (Songs of Innocence)
Twas on a Holy Thursday their innocent faces clean The children walking two & two in red & blue & green Grey-headed beadles walkd before with wands as white as snow, Till into the high dome of Pauls they like Thames waters flow
O what a multitude they seemd these flowers of London town Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own The hum of multitudes was there but multitudes of lambs Thousands of little boys & girls raising their innocent hands
Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of Heaven among Beneath them sit the aged men wise guardians of the poor Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door
by William Blake, 1757-1827
A CRADLE SONG [from Songs of Innocence]
Sweet dreams, form a shade
O'er my lovely infant's head!
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy, silent, moony beams!
Sweet Sleep, with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown!
Sweet Sleep, angel mild,
Hover o'er my happy child!
Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight!
Sweet smiles, mother's smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes!
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.
Sleep, sleep, happy child!
All creation slept and smiled.
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o'er thee thy mother weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace;
Sweet babe, once like thee
Thy Maker lay, and wept for me:
Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When He was an infant small.
Thou His image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee!
Smiles on thee, on me, on all,
Who became an infant small;
Infant smiles are His own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.
by William Blake, 1757-1827
Music by Ralph Vaughan Williams; poem by William Blake; performed by Nicholas Phan:
THE DIVINE IMAGE [from SONGS OF INNOCENCE]
To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
All pray in their distress;
And to these virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.
For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
Is God, our Father dear,
And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
Is man, His child and care.
For Mercy has a human heart,
Pity a human face,
And Love, the human form divine,
And Peace, the human dress.
Then every man, of every clime,
That prays in his distress,
Prays to the human form divine,
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.
For all must love the human form,
In heathen, Turk, or Jew;
Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell
There God is dwelling too.
by William Blake, 1757-1827
Adam Walker reads and analyses “The Marriage of Heaven and Hell”:
TO HEAR A BBC RADIO DRAMATIZATION OF BLAKE’S BOOK THE MARRIAGE OF HEAVEN AND HELL (PLUS AN INTRODUCTION) [CLICK HERE]
TO HEAR A READING BY CONNOR GARSTKA OF THE ENTIRE BLAKE BOOKS OF SONGS OF INNOCENCE AND SONGS OF EXPERIENCE [CLICK HERE]
The music for these renditions of William Blake’s Songs Of Innocence was written and recorded between October 2014 and May 2015. The music appears here with reproductions of Blake’s original illuminated prints, so that they can be listened to, viewed and read at the same time. The songs are performed by The Alan Tyler Show: Alan Tyler – vocals, guitar; Patrick Ralla – guitar, organ, percussion; Jim Morrison – violin, mandolin; vocals from Emma Tricca, Siobhan Parr and Bryony Afferson. The music is written and arranged by Alan Tyler and published by Bucks Music. A playlist:
TO HEAR JANE BOSTON (OF THE BLAKE SOCIETY) READ THE BLAKE BOOKAMERICA, A PROPHECY(WITH BLAKE’S ILLUMINATIONS [CLICK HERE]
WHERE DID BLAKE LIVE? WHERE IS HE BURIED? [CLICK HERE]
Jeff Grinnell's Poetry Platform 