godistrans

Here are the books I have on William Blake's poetry and that I source my poems from: Complete Works and Selected Works

Icon is The Ghost of a Flea and banner is Dante and Virgil at the Gates of Hell both by William Blake

FAQ:

How sweet I roam'd from field to field, And tasted all the summer's pride, 'Till the prince of love beheld, Who in the sunny beams did glide!

He shew'd me lilies for my hair, And blushing roses for my brow; He led me through his garden fair, Where all his golden pleasures grow.

With sweet May dews my wings were wet, And Phoebus fir'd my vocal rage; He caught me in his silken net, And shut me in his golden cage.

I dreamt a dream! What can it mean? And that I was a maiden Queen: Guarded by an Angel mild; Witless woe was ne’er beguil'd!

And I wept both night and day And he wip'd my tears away And I wept both day and night And hid from him my heart’s delight

So he took his wings and fled; Then the morn blush'd rosy red: I dried my tears, & arm'd my fears, With ten thousand shields and spears.

I love the jocund dance, The softly-breathing song, Where innocent eyes do glance, And where lisps the maiden's tongue.

I love the laughing vale, I love the echoing hills, Where mirth does never fail, And the jolly swain laughs his fill.

I love the pleasant cot, I love the innocent bow'r, Where white and brown is our lot, Or fruit in the mid-day hour.

I love the oaken seat, Beneath the oaken tree, Where all the old villagers meet, And laugh our sports to see.

Memory, hither come, And tune your merry notes; And, while upon the wind Your music floats,

I'll pore upon the stream Where sighing lovers dream, And fish for fancies as they pass Within the watery glass.

I'll drink of the clear stream, And hear the linnet's song; And there I'll lie and dream The day along:

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;

And mutual fear brings peace; Till the selfish loves increase, Then Cruelty knits a snare, And spreads his baits with care.

He sits down with holy fears, And waters the ground with tears: Then Humility takes its root Underneath his foot.

Soon spreads the dismal shade Of Mystery over his head; And the Caterpillar and Fly, Feed on the Mystery.

And it bears the fruit of Deceit, Ruddy and sweet to eat; And the Raven his nest has made In its thickest shade.

Once a dream did weave a shade, O'er my Angel-guarded bed, That an Emmet lost it's way Where on grass methought I lay.

Troubled wilderd and forlorn Dark benighted travel-worn, Over many a tangled spray All heart-broke I heard her say.

O my children! do they cry Do they hear their father sigh. Now they look abroad to see, Now return and weep for me.

Pitying I drop'd a tear: But I saw a glow-worm near: Who replied. What wailing wight Calls the watchman of the night.

I am set to light the ground, While the beetle goes his round: Follow now the beetles hum, Little wanderer hie thee home.

The Road goes ever on and on Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with weary feet, Until it joins some larger way, Where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say.