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William Blake, Feel free to add replies to this.... |
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Aug 9 03, 11:30
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Mosaic Master
Group: Administrator
Posts: 18,892
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From: Massachusetts
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Real Name: Lori Kanter
Writer of: Poetry & Prose
Referred By:Imhotep
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Works of William Blake
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.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I Rose Up at the Dawn of Day
I rose up at the dawn of day-- `Get thee away! get thee away! Pray'st thou for riches? Away! away! This is the Throne of Mammon grey.'
Said I: This, sure, is very odd; I took it to be the Throne of God. For everything besides I have: It is only for riches that I can crave.
I have mental joy, and mental health, And mental friends, and mental wealth; I've a wife I love, and that loves me; I've all but riches bodily.
I am in God's presence night and day, And He never turns His face away; The accuser of sins by my side doth stand, And he holds my money-bag in his hand.
For my worldly things God makes him pay, And he'd pay for more if to him I would pray; And so you may do the worst you can do; Be assur'd, Mr. Devil, I won't pray to you.
Then if for riches I must not pray, God knows, I little of prayers need say; So, as a church is known by its steeple, If I pray it must be for other people.
He says, if I do not worship him for a God, I shall eat coarser food, and go worse shod; So, as I don't value such things as these, You must do, Mr. Devil, just as God please.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Never Seek To Tell Thy Love
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 -- O, was no deny.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 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.
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"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to." ~ J.R.R Tolkien, The Lord of the RingsCollaboration feeds innovation. In the spirit of workshopping, please revisit those threads you've critiqued to see if the author has incorporated your ideas, or requests further feedback from you. In addition, reciprocate with those who've responded to you in kind. "I believe it is the act of remembrance, long after our bones have turned to dust, to be the true essence of an afterlife." ~ Lorraine M. KanterNominate a poem for the InterBoard Poetry Competition by taking into careful consideration those poems you feel would best represent Mosaic Musings. For details, click into the IBPC nomination forum. Did that poem just captivate you? Nominate it for the Faery award today! If perfection of form allured your muse, propose the Crown Jewels award. For more information, click here! "Worry looks around, Sorry looks back, Faith looks up." ~ Early detection can save your life.MM Award Winner
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Guest__*
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Sep 12 03, 06:35
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Guest
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The Lamb Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Gave thee life, and bid thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice? Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Little Lamb, I'll tell thee, Little Lamb, I'll tell thee: He is called by thy name, For he calls himself a Lamb. He is meek, and he is mild; He became a little child. I a child, and thou a lamb. We are called by his name. Little Lamb, God bless thee! Little Lamb, God bless thee!
A Poison Tree
I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe; I told it not, my wrath did grow. And I water'd it in fears, Night & morning with my tears; And I sunned it with my smiles And with soft deceitful wiles. And it grew both day and night, Till it bore an apple bright; And my foe beheld it shine, And he knew that it was mine, 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
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Guest_Jox_*
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Sep 17 03, 15:52
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Guest
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Here is what is, generally accepted to be, Blake's most famous poem. Notice the similarities to The Lamb, above. Of course most famous does not necessarily mean best - but this poem does have tremendous force.
William Blake, English Poet and Painter 1757–1827
The Tiger by William Blake
Tiger, tiger, burning bright, In the forest of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, and what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? When thy heart began to beat, What dread hand forged thy dread feet?
What the hammer? What the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? What dread grasp Dared its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears And watered 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 forest of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
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