william blake – One Book a Week

To Spring – William Blake poem

O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down Thro’ the clear windows of the morning, turn Thine angel eyes upon our western isle, Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring! The hills tell each other, and the listening Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth,Continue reading “To Spring – William Blake poem”

Poetical Sketches The Couch of Death – William Blake

THE VEILED Evening walked solitary down the western hills, and Silence reposed in the valley; the birds of day were heard in their nests, rustling in brakes and thickets; and the owl and bat flew round the darkening trees: all is silent when Nature takes her repose.—

Why should I be bound to thee by William Blake (1757 – 1827)

Why should I be bound to thee, O my lovely Myrtle-tree? Love, free Love, cannot be bound To any tree that grows on ground. O! how sick and weary I Underneath my Myrtle lie; Like to dung upon the ground, Underneath my Myrtle bound. Oft my Myrtle sigh’d in vain To behold my heavy chain:Continue reading “Why should I be bound to thee by William Blake (1757 – 1827)”

William Blake – On Death

Far from being an isolated mystic, Blake lived and worked in the teeming metropolis of London at a time of great social and political change that profoundly influenced his writing. After the peace established in 1762, the British Empire seemed secure, but the storm wave begun with the American Revolution in 1775 and the FrenchContinue reading “William Blake – On Death”

The Blossom * William Blake Poem

Merry, merry sparrow! Under leaves so green A happy blossom Sees you, swift as arrow, Seek your cradle narrow, Near my bosom. Pretty, pretty robin! Under leaves so green A happy blossom Hears you sobbing, sobbing, Pretty, pretty robin, Near my bosom.

The garden of Love by William Blake – Spring poetry

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.

The Tiger – William Blake

“The Tyger” is a poem made of questions. There are no less than thirteen question marks and only one full sentence that ends with a period instead of a question mark. Addressing “The Tyger,” the speaker questions it as to its creation – essentially: “Who made you Mr. Tyger?” “How were you made? Where? Why?Continue reading “The Tiger – William Blake”