And into my garden stole
When the night had veil’d the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretch’d beneath the tree.
A LITTLE BOY LOST
‘Nought loves another as itself,
Nor venerates another so,
Nor is it possible to Thought
A greater than itself to know:
“And Father, how can I love you
Or any of my brothers more?
I love you like the little bird
That picks up crumbs around the door.”
The Priest sat by and heard the child,
In trembling zeal he siez’d his hair:
He led him by his little coat,
And all admir’d the Priestly care.
And standing on the altar high,
“Lo ! what a fiend is herel” said he,
“One who sets reason up for judge
Of our most holy Mystery.”
The weeping child could not be heard,
The weeping parents wept in vain;
They strip’d him to his little shirt,
And bound him in an iron chain;
And burn’d him in a holy place,
Where many had been burn’d before:
The weeping parents wept in vain.
Are such things done on Albion’s shore?
A LITTLE GIRL LOST
Children of the future Age
Reading this indignant page,
Know that in a former time
Love! sweet Love! was thought a crime.
In the Age of Gold,
Free from winter’s cold,
Youth and maiden bright
To the holy light,
Naked in the sunny beams delight.
Once a youthful pair,
Fill’d with softest care,
Met in garden bright
Where the holy light
Had just remov’d the curtains of the night.
There, in rising day,
On the grass they play;
Parents were afar,
Strangers came not near,
And the maiden soon forgot her fear.
Tired with kisses sweet,
They agree to meet
When the silent sleep
Waves o’er heaven’s deep,
And the weary tired wanderers weep.
To her father white
Came the maiden bright;
But his loving look,
Like the holy book,
All her tender limbs with terror shook.
“Ona! pale and weak !
To thy father speak:
0, the trembling fear!
O, the dismal care!
That shakes the blossoms of my hoary hair.”
ADDITIONAL POEMS
(1794-1901)
TO TIRZAH
Whate’er is Born of Mortal Birth
Must be consumed with the Earth
to rise from Generation free:
Then what have I to do with thee?
The Sexes sprung from Shame & Pride,
Blow’d in the mom; in evening died;
But Mercy chang’d Death into Sleep;
The Sexes rose to work & weep.
Thou, Mother of my Mortal part,
With cruelty didst mould my Heart,
And with false self-decieving tears
Didst bind my Nostrils, Eyes, & Ears:
Didst close my Tongue in senseless clay,
And me to Mortal Life betray.
The Death of Jesus set me free:
Then what have I to do with thee?
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?
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 appear?
Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy,
Or bless the mellowing year,
When the blasts of winter appear?
THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT BARD
Youth of delight, come hither,
And see the opening morn,
Image of truth new born.
Doubt is fled, & clouds of reason,
Dark disputes & artful teazing.
Folly is an endless maze,
Tangled roots perplex her ways.
How many have fallen there!
They stumble all night over bones of the dead,
And feel they know not what but care,
And wish to lead others, when they should be led.
A DIVINE IMAGE
Cruelty has a Human Heart,
And Jealousy a Human Face;
Terror the Human Form Divine,
And Secrecy the Human Dress.
The Human Dress is forged Iron,
The Human Form a fiery Forge,
The Human Face a Furnace seal’d.
The Human Heart its hungry Gorge.
IV.
VERSES AND FRAGMENTS FROM THE ROSSETTI AND PICKERING MANUSCRIPTS
FIRST SERIES
(1793-1799)
Never seek to tell thy love
Love that never told can be;
For the gentle wind does move
Silently, invisibly.
I told my love, I told my love,
I told her all my heart,
Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears—
Ah, she doth depart.
Soon as she was gone from me
A traveller came by
Silently, invisibly—
0, was no deny.
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 & the wild
To the thistles & thorns of the waste
And they told me how they were beguil’d,
Driven out, & compel’d to be chaste.
I saw a chapel all of gold
That none did dare to enter in,
And many weeping stood without,
Weeping, mourning, worshipping.
I saw a serpent rise between
The white pillars of the door,
And he forc’d & forc’d & forc’d,
Down the golden hinges tore.
And along the pavement sweet,
Set with pearls & rubies bright,
All his slimy length he drew,
Till upon the altar white
Vomiting his poison out
On the bread & on the wine.
So I turn’d into a sty
And laid me down among the swine.
I asked a thief to steal me a peach:
He turned up his eyes.
I ask’d a lithe lady to lie her down:
Holy & meek she cries.
As soon as I went an angel came:
He wink’d at the thief
And smil’d at the dame,
And without one word spoke
/> Had a peach from the tree,
And ’twixt earnest & joke
Enjoy’d the Lady.
I heard an Angel singing
When the day was springing,
“Mercy, Pity, Peace
Is the world’s release.”
Thus he sung all day
Over the new mown hay,
Till the sun went down
And haycocks looked brown.
I heard a Devil curse
Over the heath & the furze,
“Mercy could be no more,
If there was nobody poor,
“And pity no more could be,
If all were as happy as we.”
At his curse the sun went down,
And the heavens gave a frown.
Down pour’d the heavy rain
Over the new reap’d grain,
And Miseries’ increase
Is Mercy, Pity, Peace.
A CRADLE SONG
Sleep, Sleep, beauty bright
Dreaming o’er the joys of night.
Sleep, Sleep: in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit & weep.
Sweet Babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace
Secret joys & secret smiles
Little pretty infant wiles.
As thy softest limbs I feel
Smiles as of the morning steal
O‘er thy cheek & o’er thy breast
Where thy little heart does rest.
O, the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep.
When thy little heart does wake,
Then the dreadful lightnings break.
From thy cheek & from thy eye
O’er the youthful harvests nigh
Infant wiles & infant smiles
Heaven & Earth of peace beguiles.
I fear’d the fury of my wind
Would blight all blossoms fair & true;
And my sun it shin’d & shin’d
And my wind it never blew.
But a blossom fair or true
Was not found on any tree;
For all blossoms grew & grew
Fruitless, false, tho’ fair to see.
Why should I care for the men of thames,
Or the cheating waves of charter’d streams,
Or shrink at the little blasts of fear
That the hireling blows into my ear?
Tho’ born on the cheating banks of Thames,
Tho’ his waters bathed my infant limbs,
The Ohio shall wash his stains from me:
I was born a slave, but I go to be free.
INFANT SORROW
My mother groan’d, my father wept;
Into the dangerous world I leapt,
Helpless, naked, piping loud,
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.
Struggling in my father’s hands
Striving against my swaddling bands,
Bound & weary, I thought best
To sulk upon my mother’s breast.
When I saw that rage was vain,
And to sulk would nothing gain,
Turning many a trick & wile,
I began to soothe & smile.
And I sooth’d day after day
Till upon the ground I stray;
And I smil’d night after night,
Seeking only for delight.
And I saw before me shine
Clusters of the wand’ring vine,
And many a lovely flower & tree
Streteh’d their blossoms out to me.
My father then with holy look,
In his hands a holy book,
Pronounc’d curses on my head
And bound me in a mirtle shade.
IN A MIRTLE SHADE
Why should I be bound to thee,
O my lovely mirtle tree?
Love, free love, cannot be bound
To any tree that grows on ground.
0, how sick & weary I
Underneath my mirtle lie,
Like to dung upon the ground
Underneath my mirtle bound.
Oft my mirtle sigh’d in vain
To behold my heavy chain;
Oft my father saw us sigh,
And laugh’d at our simplicity.
So I smote him & his gore
Stain’d the roots my mirtle bore.
But the time of youth is Bed,
And grey hairs are on my head.
Silent, Silent Night
Quench the holy light
Of thy torches bright.
For possess’d of Day
Thousand spirits stray
That sweet joys betray
Why should joys be sweet
Used with deceit
Nor with sorrows meet?
But an honest joy
Does itself destroy
For a harlot coy.
0 lapwing, thou fliest around the heath,
Nor seest the net that is spread beneath.
Why dost thou not fly among the corn fields?
They cannot spread nets where a harvest yields.
Thou hast a lap full of seed,
And this is a fine country.
Why dost thou not cast thy seed
And live in it merrily?
Shall I cast it on the sand
And turn it into fruitful land?
For on no other ground
Can I sow my seed
Without tearing up
Some stinking weed.
TO NOBODADDY
Why art thou silent & invisible,
Father of Jealousy?
Why dost thou hide thy self in clouds
From every searching Eye?
Why darkness & obscurity
In all thy words & laws,
That none dare eat the fruit but from
The wily serpent’s jaws? ,
Or is it because Secresy gains females’ loud applause?
Are not the joys of morning sweeter
Than the joys of night?
And are the vig’rous joys of youth
Ashamed of the light?
Let age & sickness silent rob
The vineyards in the night;
But those who burn with vig’rous youth
Pluck fruits before the light.
Love to faults is always blind,
Always is to joy inclin‘d,
Lawless, wing’d, & unconfin’d,
And breaks all chains from every mind.
Deceit to secresy confin’d,
Lawful, cautious, & refin’d;
To every thing but interest blind,
And forges fetters for the mind.
THE WILD FLOWER’S SONG
As I wander’d the forest,
The green leaves among,
I heard a wild flower
Singing a song:
“I slept in the dark
In the silent night,
I murmur’d my fears
And I felt delight.
“In the morning I went
As rosy as morn
To seek for new Joy,
But I met with scorn.”
SOFT SNOW
I walked abroad in a snowy day:
I ask’d the soft snow with me to play:
She play’d & she melted in all her prime,
And the winter call’d it a dreadful crime.
AN ANCIENT PROVERB
Remove away that black’ning church:
Remove away that marriage hearse:
Remove away that place of blood:
You’ll quite remove the ancient curse.
TO MY MIRTLE
To a lovely mirtle bound,
Blossoms show’ring all around,
0, how sick & weary I
Underneath my mirtle lie.
Why should I be bound to thee,
0, my lovely mirtle tree?
MERLIN’S PROPHECY
The harvest shall flourish in wintry weather
When two virginities
meet together:
The King & the Priest must be tied in a tether
Before two virgins can meet together.
DAY
The Sun arises in the East,
Cloth’d in robes of blood & gold;
Swords & spears & wrath increast
All around his bosom roll’d,
Crown’d with warlike fires & raging desires.
THE MARRIAGE RING
“Come hither my sparrows,
My little arrows.
If a tear or a smile
Will a man beguile,
If an amorous delay
Clouds a sunshiny day,
If the step of a foot
Smites the heart to its root,
The Portable Blake Page 10
