William Blake

William Blake

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William Blake (28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827) was an English poet, painter, and printmaker. Largely unrecognised during his lifetime, Blake is now considered a seminal figure in the history of the poetry and visual arts of the Romantic Age.
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Sound the flute
Now it's mute
Bird's delight,      Day and night,      Nightingale,      In the dale,      Lark in sky,—      Merrily,
Merrily merrily, to welcome in the year
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To Spring

O thou with dewy locks, who lookest
Thro' the clear windows of the morning,
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Which in full choir hails thy approach,
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The Crystal Cabinet

The Maiden caught me in the wild,
Where I was dancing merrily;
She put me into her Cabinet,
And lock'd me up with a golden key
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The Tyger

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
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The Schoolboy

I love to rise in a summer morn,
When the birds sing on every tree;
The distant huntsman winds his horn,
And the sky-lark sings with me
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The Wild Flowers Song

As I wandered the forest,
The green leaves among,
I heard a Wild
Singing a song
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The Echoing Green

The sun does arise,
And make happy the skies;
The merry bells
To welcome the spring;
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I wander thro' each charter'd street,
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow.
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
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The Land of Dreams

Awake, awake, my little boy
Thou wast thy mother's only joy;
Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep
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Silent Silent Night

Silent, silent night,
Quench the holy
Of thy torches bright;
For possessed of
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Infant Sorrow

My mother groaned, my father wept,
Into the dangerous world I leapt;
Helpless, naked, piping loud,
Like a fiend hid in a cloud
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The Human Abstract

Pity would be no
If we did not make somebody Poor;
And Mercy no more could
If all were as happy as we
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To the Evening Star

Thou fair-haired angel of the evening,
Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains,
Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant
Put on, and smile upon our evening bed
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Earths Answer

Earth raised up her head From the darkness dread and drear,
Her light fled,
Stony, dread,
And her locks covered with grey despair
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The sun descending in the west,
The evening star does shine;
The birds are silent in their nest,
And I must seek for mine
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Infant Joy

"I have no name;
I am but two days old
" What shall I call thee
"I happy am,
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