The Portable Blake

by William Blake

’Tis the marriage ring

  Makes each fairy a king.”

  So a fairy sung.

  From the leaves I sprung.

  He leap’d from the spray

  To flee away.

  But in my hat caught

  He soon shall be taught.

  Let him laugh, let him cry,

  He’s my butterfly;

  For I’ve pull’d out the sting

  Of the marriage ring.

  The sword sung on the barren heath,

  The sickle in the fruitful field:

  The sword he sung a song of death,

  But could not make the sickle yield.

  Abstinence sows sand all over

  The ruddy limbs & flaming hair,

  But Desire Gratified

  Plants fruits of life & beauty there.

  In a wife I would desire

  What in whores is always found—

  The lineaments of Gratified desire.

  If you trap the moment before it’s ripe,

  The tears of repentence you’ll certainly wipe;

  But if once you let the ripe moment go

  You can never wipe off the tears of woe.

  ETERNITY

  He who binds to himself a joy

  Does the winged life destroy;

  But he who kisses the joy as it flies

  Lives in eternity’s sun rise.

  THE QUESTION ANSWER’S

  What is it men in women do require?

  The lineaments of Gratified Desire.

  What is it women do in men require?

  The lineaments of Gratified Desire.

  LACEDEMONIAN INSTRUCTION

  “Come hither, my boy, tell me what thou seest there.”

  “A fool tangled in a religious snare.”

  RICHES

  The countless gold of a merry heart,

  The rubies & pearls of a loving eye,

  The indolent never can bring to the mart,

  Nor the secret hoard up in his treasury.

  AN ANSWER TO THE PARSON

  “Why of the sheep do you not learn peace?”

  “Because I don’t want you to shear my fleece.”

  The look of love alarms

  Because ’tis fill’d with fire;

  But the look of soft deceit

  Shall win the lover’s hire.

  Which are beauties sweetest dress?

  Soft deceit & idleness,

  These are beauties sweetest dress.

  MOTTO TO THE SONGS OF INNOCENCE & OF EXPERIENCE

  The Good are attracted by Men’s perceptions,

  And think not for themselves;

  Till Experience teaches them to catch

  And to cage the Fairies & Elves.

  And then the Knave begins to snarl

  And the Hypocrite to howl;

  And all his good Friends shew their private ends,

  And the Eagle is known from the Owl.

  Her whole Life is an Epigram, smart, smooth, & neatly

  pen’d,

  Platted quite neat to catch applause with a sliding noose

  at the end.

  An old maid early—e‘er I knew

  Ought but the love that on me grew;

  And now I’m cover’d o’er & o’er

  And wish that I had been a whore.

  0, I cannot, cannot find

  The undaunted courage of a Virgin Mind,

  For Early I in love was crost,

  Before my flower of love was lost.

  “Let the Brothels of Paris be opened

  With many an alluring dance

  To awake the Pestilence thro’ the city,”

  Said the beautiful Queen of France.

  The King awoke on his couch of gold,

  As soon as he heard these tidings told:

  “Arise & come, both fife & drum,

  And the Famine shall eat both crust & crumb.”

  Then he swore a great & solemn Oath:

  “To kill the people I am loth,

  But If they rebel, they must go to hell:

  They shall have a Priest & a passing bell.”

  Then old Nobodaddy aloft

  Farted & belch’d & cough’d,

  And said, “I love hanging & drawing & quartering

  Every bit as well as war & slaughtering.

  Damn praying & singing,

  Unless they will bring in

  The blood of ten thousand by fighting qr swinging.”

  The Queen of France just touched this Globe,

  And the Pestilence darted from her robe;

  But our good Queen quite grows to the ground,

  And a great many suckers grow all around.

  Fayette beside King Lewis stood;

  He saw him sign his hand;

  And soon he saw the famine rage

  About the fruitful land.

  Fayette beheld the Queen to smile

  And wink her lovely eye;

  And soon he saw the pestilence

  From street to street to fly.

  Fayette beheld the King & Queen

  In tears & iron bound;

  But mute Fayette wept tear for tear,

  And guarded them around.

  Fayette, Fayette, thou’rt bought & sold,

  And sold is thy happy morrow;

  Thou gavest the tears of Pity away

  In exchange for the tears of sorrow.

  Who will exchange his own fire side

  For the steps of another’s door?

  Who will exchange his wheaten loaf

  For the links of a dungeon floor?

  0, who would smile on the wintry seas,

  & Pity the stormy roar?

  Or who will exchange his new born child

  For the dog at the wintry door?

  A fairy leapt upon my knee

  Singing & dancing merrily;

  I said, “Thou thing of patches, rings,

  Pins, Necklaces, & such like things,

  Disguiser of the Female Form,

  Thou paltry, gilded, poisonous worml”

  Weeping, he fell upon my thigh,

  And thus in tears did soft reply:

  “Knowest thou not, 0 Fairies’ Lord!

  How much by us Contemn’d, Abhorr’d,

  Whatever hides the Female form

  That cannot bear the Mental storm?

  Therefore in Pity still we give

  Our lives to make the Female live;

  And what would turn into disease

  We turn to what will joy & please.”

  LINES FOR THE ILLUSTRATIONS TO GRAY’S POEMS

  Around the Springs of Gray my wild root weaves.

  Traveller repose & Dream among my leaves.

  TO MRS. ANNA FLAXMAN

  A little Flower grew in a lonely Vale.

  Its form was lovely but its colours pale.

  One standing in the Porches of the Sun,

  When his Meridian Glories were begun,

  Leap’d from the steps of fire & on the grass

  Alighted where this little flower was.

  With hands divine he mov’d the gentle. Sod

  And took the Flower up in its native Clod;

  Then planting it upon a Mountain’s brow—

  “ ’Tis your own fault if you don’t flourish now.”

  SECOND SERIES

  (1800-1810)

  The Angel that presided o’er my birth

  Said, “Little creature, form’d of Joy & Mirth,

  Go love without the help of any Thing on Earth.”

  MORNING

  To find the Western path

  Right thro’ the Gates of Wrath

  I urge my way;

  Sweet Mercy leads me on:

  With soft repentant moan

  I see the break of day.

  The war of swords & spears

  Melted by dewy tears

  Exhales on high;

  The Sun is freed from fears

  And with soft grateful tears

  Ascends the
sky.

  Terror in the house does roar,

  But Pity stands before the door.

  Mock on, Mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau:

  Mock on, Mock on; ’tis all in vain!

  You throw the sand against the wind,

  And the wind blows it back again.

  And every sand becomes a Gem

  Reflected in the beams divine;

  Blown back they blind the mocking Eye,

  But still in Israel’s paths they shine.

  The Atoms of Democritus

  And Newton’s Particles of light

  Are sands upon the Red sea shore,

  Where Israel’s tents do shine so bright.

  My Spectre around me night & day

  Like a Wild beast guards my way.

  My Emanation far within

  Weeps incessantly for my Sin.

  A Fathomless & boundless deep,

  There we wander, there we weep;

  On the hungry craving wind

  My Spectre follows thee behind.

  He scents thy footsteps in the snow,

  Wheresoever thou dost go

  Thro’ the wintry hail & rain.

  When wilt thou return again?

  Dost thou not in Pride & scorn

  Fill with tempests all my morn,

  And with jealousies & fears

  Fill my pleasant nights with tears?

  Seven of my sweet loves thy knife

  Has bereaved of their life.

  Their marble tombs I built with tears

  And with cold & shuddering fears.

  Seven more loves weep night & day

  Round the tombs where my loves lay,

  And seven more loves attend each night

  Around my couch with torches bright.

  And seven more Loves in my bed

  Crown with wine my mournful head,

  Pitying & forgiving all

  Thy transgressions, great & small.

  When wilt thou return & view

  My loves, & them to life renew?

  When wilt thou return & live?

  When wilt thou pity as I forgive?

  “Never, Never, I return:

  Still for Victory I burn.

  Living, thee alone I’ll have

  And when dead I’ll be thy Grave.

  “Thro’ the Heaven & Earth & Hell

  Thou shalt never never quell:

  I will fly & thou pursue,

  Night & Mom the flight renew.”

  Till I turn from Female Love,

  And root up the Infernal Grove,

  I shall never worthy be ..

  To Step into Eternity.

  And, to end thy cruel mocks,

  Annihilate thee on the rocks,

  And another form create

  To be subservient to my Fate.

  Let us agree to give up Love,

  And root up the infernal grove;

  Then shall we return & see

  The worlds of happy Eternity.

  & Throughout all Eternity

  I forgive you, you forgive me.

  As our dear Redeemer said:

  “This the Wine & this the Bread.”

  [Additional stanzas]

  O‘er my Sins thou sit & moan:

  Hast thou no sins of thy own?

  O’er my Sins thou sit & weep,

  And lull thy own Sins fast asleep.

  What Transgressions I commit

  Are for thy Transgressions fit.

  They thy Harlots, thou their slave,

  And my Bed becomes their Grave.

  Poor pale pitiable form

  That I follow in a Storm,

  Iron tears & groans of lead

  Bind around my aking head.

  THE MENTAL TRAVELLER

  I travel’d thro’ a Land of Men,

  A Land of Men & Women too,

  And heard & saw such dreadful things

  As cold Earth wanderers never knew.

  For there the Babe is born in joy

  That was begotten in dire woe;

  Just as we Reap in joy the fruit

  Which we in bitter tears did sow.

  And if the Babe is born a Boy

  He’s given to a Woman Old,

  Who nails him down upon a rock,

  Catches his shrieks in cups of gold.

  She binds iron thorns around his head,

  She pierces both his hands & feet,

  She cuts his heart out at his side

  To make it feel both cold & heat.

  Her fingers number every Nerve,

  Just as a Miser counts his gold;

  She lives upon his shrieks & cries,

  And she grows young as he grows old.

  Till he becomes a bleeding youth,

  And she becomes a Virgin bright;

  Then he rends up his Manacles

  And binds her down for his delight.

  He plants himself in all her Nerves,

  Just as a Husbandman his mould;

  And she becomes his dwelling place

  And Garden fruitful seventy fold.

  An aged, Shadow, soon he fades,

  Wand’ring round an Earthly Cot,

  Full filled all with gems & gold

  Which he by industry had got.

  And these are the gems of the Human Soul,

  The rubies & pearls of a lovesick eye,

  The countless gold of the akeing heart,

  The martyr’s groan & the lover’s sigh.

  They are his meat, they are his drink;

  He feeds the Beggar & the Poor

  And the wayfaring Traveller:

  For ever open is his door.

  His grief is their eternal joy;

  They make the roofs & walls to ring;

  Till from the fire on the hearth

  A little Female Babe does spring.

  And she is all of solid fire

  And gems & gold, that none his hand

  Dares stretch to touch her Baby form,

  Or wrap her in his swaddling-band.

  But She comes to the Man she loves,

  If young or old, or rich or poor;

  They soon drive out the aged Host,

  A Beggar at another’s door.

  He wanders weeping far away,

  Until some other take him in;

  Oft blind & age-bent, sore distrest,

  Untill he can a Maiden win.

  And to allay his freezing Age

  The Poor Man takes her in his arms;

  The Cottage fades before his sight,

  The Garden & its lovely Charms.

  The Guests are scatter’d thro’ the land,

  For the Eye altering alters all;

  The Senses roll themselves in fear,

  And the flat Earth becomes a Ball;

  The stars, sun, Moon, all shrink away,

  A desart vast without a bound,

  And nothing left to eat or drink,

  And a dark desart all around.

  The honey of her Infant lips,

  The bread & wine of her sweet smile,

  The wild game of her roving Eye,

  Does him to Infancy beguile;

  For as he eats & drinks he grows

  Younger & younger every day;

  And on the desart wild they both

  Wander in terror & dismay.

  Like the wild Stag she flees away,

  Her fear plants many a thicket wild;

  While he pursues her night & day,

  By various arts of Love beguil’d,

  By various arts of Love & Hate,

  Till the wide desart planted o’er

  With Labyrinths of wayward Love,

  Where roam the Lion, Wolf & Boar,

  Till he becomes a wayward Babe,

  And she a weeping Woman Old.

  Then many a Lover wanders here;

  The Sun & Stars are nearer roll’d.

  The trees bring forth sweet Extacy

  To all who in the desart roam;

  Till
many a City there is Built,

  And many a pleasant Shepherd’s home.

  But when they find the frowning Babe,

  Terror strikes thro’ the region wide:

  They cry “The Babel the Babe is Born!”

  And flee away on Every side.

  For who dare touch the frowning form,

  His arm is wither’d to its root;

  Lions, Boars, Wolves, all howling flee,

  And every Tree does shed its fruit.

  And none can touch that frowning form,

  Except it be a Woman Old;

  She nails him down upon the Rock,

  And all is done as I have told.

  THE CRYSTAL CABINET

  The Maiden caught me in the Wild,

  Where I was dancing merrily;

  She put me into her Cabinet