William Blake.


497   To the Muses

WHETHER on Ida’s shady brow
    Or in the chambers of the East,
The chambers of the Sun, that now
   From ancient melody have ceased;

Whether in heaven ye wander fair,
   Or the green corners of the earth,
Or the blue regions of the air
   Where the melodious winds have birth;

Whether on crystal rocks ye rove,
   Beneath the bosom of the sea,
Wandering in many a coral grove;
   Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry;

How have you left the ancient love
   That bards of old enjoy’d in you!
The languid strings do scarcely move,
   The sound is forced, the notes are few.

498    To Spring

O THOU with dewy locks, who lookest down
Through the clear windows of the morning, turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring !

The hills tell one another, and the listening
Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turn’d
Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth
And let thy holy feet visit our clime!

Come o’er the eastern hills, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumàed garments; let us taste
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
Upon our lovesick land that mourns for thee.

O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put
Thy golden crown upon her languish’d head,
Whose modest tresses are bound up for thee.

499    Jerusalem (from ‘Milton’)

AND did those feet in ancient time
   Walk upon England’s mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
   On England’s pleasant pastures seen?

And did the Countenance Divine
   Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
   Among these dark Satanic Mills?

Bring me my bow of burning gold !
   Bring me my arrows of desire !
Bring me my spear ! O clouds, unfold !
   Bring me my chariot of fire !

I will not cease from mental fight,
   Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
   In England’s green and pleasant land.

500    Reeds of Innocence

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 cheer.
‘Piper, pipe that song again;’
   So I piped: he wept to hear.

‘Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
   Sing thy songs of happy cheer !’
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,

  By PanEris using Melati.

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