Blake_Songs_of_Innocence.PDF

William Blake's

Songs of Innocence

Songs of Innocence was the first of Blake's illuminated books published in 1789. The poems and

artwork were reproduced by copperplate engraving and colored with washes by hand. In 1794 he

expanded the book to include Songs of Experience. The spellings, punctuation and capitalizations are

those of the original Blake manuscripts.

Frontispiece

Title Page

William Blake’s Songs of Innocence

Introduction

Piping down the valleys wild,

Piping songs of pleasant glee,

On a cloud I saw a child,

And he laughing said to me:

"Pipe a song about a Lamb!"

So I piped with merry chear.

"Piper, pipe that song again"

So I piped, he wept to hear.

"Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;

Sing thy songs of happy chear-

So I sung the same again,

While he wept with joy to hear.

"Piper, sit thee down and write

In a book, that all may read."

So he vanish'd from my sight,

And I pluck'd a hollow reed,

And I made a rural pen,

And I stain'd the water clear,

And I wrote my happy songs

Every child may joy to hear.

The Shepherd

How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot!

From the morn to the evening he strays;

He shall follows his sheep all the day,

And his tongue shall be filled with praise.

For he hears the lamb's innocent call,

And he hears the ewe's tender reply;

He is watchful while they are in peace,

For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.

William Blake’s Songs of Innocence

Infant Joy

"I have no name:

1 am but two days old."

What shall I call thee:'

"I happy am,

Joy is my name."

Sweet joy befall thee!

Pretty joy!

Sweet joy, but two days old.

Sweet joy I call thee:

Thou dost smile,

I sing the while,

Sweet joy befall thee!

On Another’s Sorrow

Can I see another's woe,

And not be in sorrow too!

Can I see another's grief,

And not seek for kind relief!

Can I see a falling tear,

And not feel my sorrow's share?

Can a father see his child

'Weep, nor be with sorrow fill'd!

Can a mother sit and hear

An infant groan, an infant fear?

No, no! never can it be!

Never, never can it be!

And can he who smiles on all

Hear the wren with sorrows small,

Hear the small bird's grief & care,

Hear the woes that infants bear,

And not sit beside the nest,

Pouring pity in their breast;

And not sit the cradle near,

Weeping tear on infant's tear;

And not sit both night & day,

Wiping all our tears away?

O! no, never can it be!

Never, never can it be!

He doth give his joy to all;

William Blake’s Songs of Innocence

He becomes an infant small;

He becomes a man of woe;

He doth feel the sorrow too.

Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,

And thy maker is not by;

Think not thou canst weep a tear,

And thy maker is not near.

O! he gives to us his joy

That our grief he may destroy;

Till our grief is fled & gone

He doth sit by us and moan.

The School Boy

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:'

Hear can a child, when fears annoy,

But droop his tender wing,

And forget his youthful spring?

O! father & 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 care's dismay,

How shall the summer arise in joy,

Or the summer fruits appearr

Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy,

Or bless the mellowing year,

When the blasts of winter appear?

William Blake’s Songs of Innocence

Holy Thursday

'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces

clean,

The children walking two & two, in red & blue &

green,

Grey-headed beadles walk'd before, with wands

as white as snow,

Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames'

waters flow.

O what a multitude they seem'd, these flowers of

London town!

Seated in companies they sit with radiance all

their own.

The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes

of lambs,

Thousands of little boys & girls raising their

innocent hands.

Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the

voice of song,

Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of

heaven among.

Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of

the poor;

Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from

your door.

Nurse’s Song

When the voices of children are heard on the

green,

And laughing is heard on the hill,

My heart is at rest within my breast,

And everything else is still.

"Then come home, my children, the sun is gone

down,

And the dews of night arise;

Come, come, leave off play, and let us away

Till the morning appears in the skies."

"No, no, let us play, for it is yet nay,

And we cannot go to sleep;

Besides, in the sky the little birds fly,

And the hills are all cover'd with sheep."

"Well, well, go & play till the light fades away,

And then go home to bed."

The little ones leaped & shouted & laugh'd

And all the hills ecchoed.

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