[Lisah] The Little Black Boy

My mother bore me in the southern wild,
And I am black, but O! my soul is white;
White as an angel is the English child:
But I am black as if bereav'd of light.

My mother taught me underneath a tree,
And sitting down before the heat of day,
She took me on her lap and kissed me,
And pointing to the east, began to say:

"Look on the rising sun: there God does live,
And gives his light, and gives his heat away;
And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive
Comfort in morning, joy in the noon day.

"And we are put on earth a little space,
That we may learn to bear the beams of love,
And these black bodies and this sun-burnt face
Is but a could, and like a shady grove.

"For when our souls have learn'd the heat to bear;
The cloud will vanish; we shall hear his voice,
Saying: 'Come out from the grove, my love & care,
And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.'"

Thus did my mother say, and kissed me;
And thus I say to little English boy:
When I from black and he from white cloud free,
And round the tent of God like lambs we joy,enthincity

I'll shade him from the heat till he can bear
To lean in joy upon our father's knee;
And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair,
And be like I'm, and he will then love me.

-William Blake

[Lisah] The Schoolboy

I love to rise in a summer morn
When the birds sing on every tree;
The distant huntsman winds his horn,
And the sky-lark sings with me.
O! What sweet company.

But to go to school in a summer morn,
O! it drives all joy away;
Under a cruel eye outworn,
The little ones spend the day
In sighing and dismay.

Ah! then at times I drooping sit,
And spend many an anxious hour,
Nor in my book can I take delight,
Nor sit in learning's bower,
Worn thro' with the dreary shower.

How can the bird that is born for joy
Sit in a cage and sing?
How can a child, when fears annoy,
But droop his tender wing,
And forget his youthful spring?

-William Blake

[Winifred] The Cradle

Sweet dreams form a shade,

O'er my lovely infants 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 Mothers 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 smil'd.

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 & earth to peace beguiles.

- William Blake

Two Sunflowers Move in the Yellow Room

“Ah, William, we’re weary of weather,”

said the sunflowers, shining with dew.

“Our traveling habits have tired us.

Can you give us a room with a view?”

They arranged themselves at the window

and counted the steps of the sun,

and they both took root in the carpet

where the topaz tortoises run.

[Rafiqqa]

The Smile - William Blake

There is a smile of love,
And there is a smile of deceit;
And there is a smile of smiles,
In which these two smiles meet.

(And there is a frown of hate,
And there is a frown of disdain;
And there is a frown of frowns
Which you strive to forget in vain,

For it sticks in the heart's deep core,
And it sticks in the deep backbone.)
And no smile that ever was smiled,
But only one smile alone—

That betwixt the cradle and grave
It only once smiled can be.
But when it once is smiled
There's an end to all misery.

[Qian Ling]

The School Boy – William Blake

I love to rise in a summer morn,

When the birds sing on every tree;

The distant huntsman winds his horn,

And the sky-lark sings with me.

O! what sweet company.

But to go to school in a summer morn

O! it drives all joy away;

Under a cruel eye outworn,

The little ones spend the day,

In sighing and dismay.

Ah! Then at times I drooping sit,

And spend many an anxious hour.

Nor in my book can I take delight,

Nor sit in learning’s bower,

Worn thro’ with the dreary shower.

How can the bird that is born for joy,

Sit in a cage and sing.

How can a child when fears annoy,

But droop his tender wing,

And forget his youthful spring.

O! father and mother, if buds are nip’d,

And blossoms blown away,

And if the tender plants are strip’d,

Of their joy in the springing day,

By sorrow and cares dismay,

How shall the summer arise in joy

Or the summer fruits appear

Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy

Or bless the mellowing year,

When the blasts of winter appear.

[sharon]

A Poison Tree

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright .
And my foe beheld it shine.
And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

- William Blake

[shuyan]