WILLIAM   BLAKE

|| THE GARDEN OF LOVE || MAD SONG || MY SPECTRE AROUND ME ||

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THE GARDEN OF LOVE

I laid me down upon a bank,
  Where Love lay sleeping;
I heard among the rushes dank
  Weeping, weeping.

Then I went to the heath and the wild,
  To the thistles and thorns of the waste;
And they told me how they were beguiled,
  Driven out, and compelled to the chaste.

I went to the Garden of Love,
  And saw what I never had seen;
A Chapel was built in the midst,
  Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut
  And "Thou shalt not," writ over the door;
So I turned to the Garden of Love
  That so many sweet flowers bore.

And I saw it was filled with graves,
  And tombstones where flowers should be;
And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
  And binding with briars my joys and desires.




MAD SONG

The wild winds weep,
And the night is a-cold;
Come hither, Sleep,
And my griefs unfold:
But lo! the morning peeps
Over the eastern steeps,
And the rustling birds of dawn
The earth do scorn.

Lo! to the vault
Of pavèd heaven,
With sorrow fraught
My notes are driven:
They strike the ear of night,
Make weep the eyes of day;
They make mad the roaring winds,
And with tempests play.

Like a fiend in a cloud,
With howling woe
After night I do croud,
And with night will go;
I turn my back to the east
From whence comforts have increase'd;
For light doth seize my brain
With frantic pain.




MY SPECTRE AROUND ME

My spectre around me night and day
Like a wild beast guards my way.
My emanation far within
Weeps incessantly for my sin.

A fathomless and boundless deep,
There we wander, there we weep;
On the hungry craving wind
My spectre follows thee behind.

He scents thy footsteps in the snow,
Wheresoever thou dost go
Through the wintry hail and rain.
When wilt thou return again?

Dost thou not in pride and scorn
Fill with tempests all my morn,
And with jealousies and fears
Fill my pleasant nights with tears?

Seven of my sweet loves thy knife
Has bereaved of their life.
Their marble tombs I built with tears
And with cold and shuddering fears.

Seven more loves weep night and day
Round the tombs where my loves lay,
And seven more loves attend each night
Around my couch with torches bright.

And seven more loves in my bed
Crown with wine my mournful head,
Pitying and forgiving all
Thy transgressions, great and small.





|| inspiration || lab || blair || browning ||