Blake - Songs of Experience.PDF - Blake William - Nawroty

William Blake's

Songs of Experience

Songs of Experience is the second part of Songs of Innocence and of Experience: Shewing the Two Contrary

States of the Human Soul (first published in 1794), an expansion of Blake's first illuminated book Songs of

Innocence . The poems and artwork were reproduced by copperplate engraving and colored with washes by hand.

Blake republished Songs of Innocence and Experience several times, often changing the number and order of the

plates. The spellings, punctuation and capitalizations are those of the original Blake manuscripts.

William Blake: Songs of Experience

Introduction

Hear the voice of the Bard!

Who Present, Past, & Future sees

Whose ears have heard,

The Holy Word,

That walk'd among the ancient trees.

Calling the lapsed Soul

And weeping in the evening dew:

That might controll,

The starry pole;

And fallen fallen light renew!

O Earth O Earth return!

Arise from out the dewy grass;

Night is worn,

And the morn

Rises from the slumberous mass.

Turn away no more:

Why wilt thou turn away

The starry Boor

The watry shore

Is giv'n thee till the break of day

Earth's Answer

Earth rais'd up her head,

From the darkness dread & drear.

Her light fled:

Stony dread!

And her locks cover'd with grey despair.

Prison'd on watry shore

Starry Jealousy does keep my den

Cold and hoar

Weeping o'er

I hear the Father of the ancient men

Selfish father of men

Cruel jealous selfish fear

Can delight

Chain'd in night

The virgins of youth and morning bear.

Does spring hide its joy

When buds and blossoms grow!

Does the sower!

Sow by night?

Or the plowman in darkness plow!

Break this heavy chain,

That does freeze my bones around

Selfish! vain!

Eternal bane!

That free Love with bondage bound.

William Blake: Songs of Experience

The Clod & the Pebble

Love seeketh not Itself to please,

Nor for itself hath any care;

But for another gives its ease,

And builds a Heaven in Hells despair.

So sang a little Clod of Clay,

Trodden with the cattles feet:

But a Pebble of the brook,

Warbled out these metres meet.

Love seeketh only Self to please,

To bind another to Its delight:

Joys in anothers loss of ease,

And builds a Hell in Heavens despite.

Holy Thursday

Is this a holy thing to see,

In a rich and fruitful land,

Babes reducd to misery,

Fed with cold and usurous hand?

Is that trembling cry a song!

Can it be a song of joy?

And so many children poor,

It is a land of poverty!

And their sun does never shine.

And their fields are bleak & bare.

And their ways are fill'd with thorns

It is eternal winter there.

For where-e'er the sun does shine,

And where-e'er the rain does fall:

Babe can never hunger there,

Nor poverty the mind appall.

William Blake: Songs of Experience

The Little Girl Lost

In futurity

I prophetic see,

That the earth from sleep,

(Grave the sentence deep)

Shall arise and seek

For her maker meek:

And the desart wild

Become a garden mild.

In the southern clime,

Where the summers prime,

Never fades away;

Lovely Lyca lay.

Seven summers old

Lovely Lyca told.

She had wanderd long.

Hearing wild birds song.

Sweet sleep come to me

Underneath this tree;

Do father, mother weep.

Where can Lyca sleep.

Lost in desart wild

Is your little child.

How can Lyca sleep,

If her mother weep.

If her heart does ake,

Then let Lyca wake;

If my mother sleep,

Lyca shall not weep.

Frowning frowning night,

O'er this desart bright,

Let thy moon arise,

While I close my eyes.

Sleeping Lyca lay;

While the beasts of prey,

Come from caverns deep,

View'd the maid asleep

The kingly lion stood

And the virgin view'd,

Then he gambold round

O'er the hallowd ground;

William Blake: Songs of Experience

Leopards, tygers play,

Round her as she lay;

While the lion old,

Bow'd his mane of gold.

And her bosom lick,

And upon her neck,

From his eyes of Bame,

Ruby tears there came;

While the lioness,

Loos'd her slender dress.

And naked they convey'd

To caves the sleeping maid.

The Little Girl Found

All the night in woe,

Lyca's parents go:

Over vallies deep,

While the desarts weep.

Tired and woe-begone,

Hoarse with making moan:

Arm in arm seven days,

They trac'd the desart ways.

Seven nights they sleep,

Among shadows deep:

And dream they see their child

Starved in desart wild.

Pale thro' pathless ways

The fancied image strays,

Famish'd, weeping, weak

With hollow piteous shriek

Rising from unrest,

The trembling woman prest

With feet of weary woe;

She could no further go.

In his arms he bore,

Her arm'd with sorrow sore;

Till before their way,

A couching lion lay.

Turning back was vain,

Soon his heavy mane,

Bore them to the ground;

Then he stalk'd around,

Smelling to his prey.

But their fears allay,

When he licks their hands;

And silent by them stands.

They look upon his eyes

Fill'd with deep surprise

And wondering behold,

A spirit arm'd in gold.

On his head a crown

On his shoulders down,

Flow'd his golden hair.

Gone was all their care.

Follow me he said,

Weep not for the maid;

In my palace deep,

Lyca lies asleep.

Then they followed,

Where the vision led:

And saw their sleeping child

Among tygers wild.

To this day they dwell

In a lonely dell

Nor fear the wolvish howl,

Nor the lions growl.

Blake - Songs of Experience.PDF

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