Tiger, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
Ан, sun-flower! weary of time, Who countest the steps of the Sun; Seeking after that sweet golden clime, Where the traveller's journey is done;
Where the Youth pined away with desire, And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow, Arise from their graves, and aspire Where my sun-flower wishes to go.
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 perfumèd 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.
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.'
AUGURIES OF INNOCENCE
To see a world in a grain of sand, And a heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, And eternity in an hour.
A robin redbreast in a cage Puts all heaven in a rage.
A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons Shudders hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his master's gate Predicts the ruin of the state. A horse misused upon the road Calls to heaven for human blood. Each outcry of the hunted hare A fibre from the brain does tear. A skylark wounded in the wing, A cherubim does cease to sing. The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight Does the rising sun affright.
Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.
The wild deer, wand'ring here and there, Keeps the human soul from care. The lamb misus'd breeds public strife, And yet forgives the butcher's knife. The bat that flits at close of eve Has left the brain that won't believe. The owl that calls upon the night Speaks the unbeliever's fright. He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be belov'd by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov'd Shall never be by woman lov'd. The wanton boy that kills the fly Shall feel the spider's enmity. He who torments the chafer's sprite Weaves a bower in endless night. The caterpillar on the leaf Repeats to thee thy mother's grief. Kill not the moth nor butterfly, For the last judgment draweth nigh. He who shall train the horse to war Shall never pass the polar bar. The beggar's dog and widow's cat, Feed them and thou wilt grow fat. The gnat that sings his summer's song Poison gets from slander's tongue. The poison of the snake and newt Is the sweat of envy's foot. The poison of the honey bee Is the artist's jealousy.
The prince's robes and beggar's rags Are toadstools on the miser's bags. A truth that's told with bad intent Beats all the lies you can invent. It is right it should be so; Man was made for joy and woe; And when this we rightly know, Thro' the world we safely go. Joy and woe are woven fine, A clothing for the soul divine. Under every grief and pine Runs a joy with silken twine.
The babe is more than swaddling bands;
Throughout all these human lands
Tools were made, and born were hands,
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye Becomes a babe in eternity;
This is caught by females bright,
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