POEMS BY BLAKE
SICK ROSE
O Rose, thou art sick ! The inwisible worm That files in the night, In the howling storm,
Has found out thy bed of crimson joy: And thy life destroy
SILENT, SILENT NIGHT
Silent, silent Night Quench the holy light of thy torches bright.
For possess´d of day Thousand spirits stray That sweet joys betray.
Why sould toys be sweet Used with deceit Nor with sorrows meet ?
But an honest joy Does itself destroy For a harlot coy
AH, SUN-FLOWER !
Ah, sun-flower ! Weary of time Who countest the steps of the Sun, Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveller´s 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-fower wishes to go.
AND DID THOSE FEET IN ACNIENT TIMES
And did those feet in acnient times Walk upon England´s mountains green ? And was the holy Lamp of God On England´s pleasant pastures seen ? And did the Countenance Devine shine forth upon our clouded hills? And was Jersualem builded here, Among these Satanic Mills?
Bring my Bow of burning gold: Bring my Arrows of desire Bring my speare: O clouds unfold ! Bring me my chariot fire ! I will not cease from Metal fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand Till we have built Jerusalem In England´s green and pleasent land !
