Collected English Verse — William Blake. b. 1757, d. 1827 (Part 3 of 3)

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water’d heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

504    Cradle Song

SLEEP, sleep, beauty bright,
Dreaming in the joys of night;
Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.

Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.

As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O’er thy cheek, and o’er thy breast
Where thy little heart doth rest.

O the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep!
When thy little heart doth wake,
Then the dreadful night shall break.

505    Night

   THE sun descending in the west,
   The evening star does shine;
The birds are silent in their nest.
   And I must seek for mine.
     The moon, like a flower
     In heaven’s high bower,
     With silent delight
     Sits and smiles on the night.

   Farewell, green fields and happy grove,
   Where flocks have took delight:
Where lambs have nibbled, silent move
   The feet of angels bright;
     Unseen they pour blessing
     And joy without ceasing
     On each bud and blossom,
     On each sleeping bosom.

   They look in every thoughtless nest
   Where birds are cover’d warm;
They visit caves of every beast,
   To keep them all from harm:
     If they see any weeping
     That should have been sleeping,
     They pour sleep on their head,
     And sit down by their bed.

   When wolves and tigers howl for prey,
   They pitying stand and weep,
Seeking to drive their thirst away
   And keep them from the sheep.
     But, if they rush dreadful,
     The angels, most heedful,
     Receive each mild spirit,
     New worlds to inherit.

   And there the lion’s ruddy eyes
   Shall flow with tears of gold:
And pitying the tender cries,
   And walking round the fold:
     Saying, ‘Wrath by His meekness,
     And, by His health, sickness,
     Are driven away
     From our immortal day.

   ‘And now beside thee, bleating lamb,
   I can lie down and sleep,
Or think on Him who bore thy name,
   Graze after thee, and weep.
     For, wash’d in life’s river,
     My bright mane for ever
     Shall shine like the gold
     As I guard o’er the fold.’

506    Love’s Secret

NEVER seek to tell thy love,
    Love that never told can be;
For the gentle wind doth move
    Silently, invisibly.

I told my love, I told my love,
    I told her all my heart,
Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears.
    Ah! she did depart!

Soon after she was gone from me,
    A traveller came by,
Silently, invisibly:
    He took her with a sigh.