The Portable William Blake (13 page)

Why should I care for the men of thames,
Or the cheating waves of charter’d streams,
Or shrink at the little blasts of fear
That the hireling blows into my ear?

 

Tho’ born on the cheating banks of Thames,
Tho’ his waters bathed my infant limbs,
The Ohio shall wash his stains from me:
I was born a slave, but I go to be free.

My mother groan’d, my father wept;
Into the dangerous world I leapt,
Helpless, naked, piping loud,
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.

 

Struggling in my father’s hands
Striving against my swaddling bands,
Bound & weary, I thought best
To sulk upon my mother’s breast.

 

When I saw that rage was vain,
And to sulk would nothing gain,
Turning many a trick & wile,
I began to soothe & smile.

 

And I sooth’d day after day
Till upon the ground I stray;
And I smil’d night after night,
Seeking only for delight.

 

And I saw before me shine
Clusters of the wand’ring vine,
And many a lovely flower & tree
Streteh’d their blossoms out to me.

 

My father then with holy look,
In his hands a holy book,
Pronounc’d curses on my head
And bound me in a mirtle shade.

Why should I be bound to thee,
O my lovely mirtle tree?
Love, free love, cannot be bound
To any tree that grows on ground.

 

0, how sick & weary I
Underneath my mirtle lie,
Like to dung upon the ground
Underneath my mirtle bound.

 

Oft my mirtle sigh’d in vain
To behold my heavy chain;
Oft my father saw us sigh,
And laugh’d at our simplicity.

 

So I smote him & his gore
Stain’d the roots my mirtle bore.
But the time of youth is Bed,
And grey hairs are on my head.

Silent, Silent Night
Quench the holy light
Of thy torches bright.

 

For possess’d of Day
Thousand spirits stray
That sweet joys betray

 

Why should joys be sweet
Used with deceit
Nor with sorrows meet?

 

But an honest joy
Does itself destroy
For a harlot coy.

0 lapwing, thou fliest around the heath,
Nor seest the net that is spread beneath.
Why dost thou not fly among the corn fields?
They cannot spread nets where a harvest yields.

Thou hast a lap full of seed,
And this is a fine country.
Why dost thou not cast thy seed
And live in it merrily?

 

Shall I cast it on the sand
And turn it into fruitful land?
For on no other ground
Can I sow my seed
Without tearing up
Some stinking weed.

Why art thou silent & invisible,
Father of Jealousy?
Why dost thou hide thy self in clouds
From every searching Eye?

 

Why darkness & obscurity
In all thy words & laws,
That none dare eat the fruit but from
The wily serpent’s jaws? ,
Or is it because Secresy gains females’ loud applause?

Are not the joys of morning sweeter
Than the joys of night?
And are the vig’rous joys of youth
Ashamed of the light?

 

Let age & sickness silent rob
The vineyards in the night;
But those who burn with vig’rous youth
Pluck fruits before the light.

Love to faults is always blind,
Always is to joy inclin‘d,
Lawless, wing’d, & unconfin’d,
And breaks all chains from every mind.

 

Deceit to secresy confin’d,
Lawful, cautious, & refin’d;
To every thing but interest blind,
And forges fetters for the mind.

As I wander’d the forest,
The green leaves among,
I heard a wild flower
Singing a song:

 

“I slept in the dark
In the silent night,
I murmur’d my fears
And I felt delight.

“In the morning I went
As rosy as morn
To seek for new Joy,
But I met with scorn.”

I walked abroad in a snowy day:
I ask’d the soft snow with me to play:
She play’d & she melted in all her prime,
And the winter call’d it a dreadful crime.

Remove away that black’ning church:
Remove away that marriage hearse:
Remove away that place of blood:
You’ll quite remove the ancient curse.

To a lovely mirtle bound,
Blossoms show’ring all around,
0, how sick & weary I
Underneath my mirtle lie.
Why should I be bound to thee,
0, my lovely mirtle tree?

The harvest shall flourish in wintry weather
When two virginities meet together:
The King & the Priest must be tied in a tether
Before two virgins can meet together.

The Sun arises in the East,
Cloth’d in robes of blood & gold;
Swords & spears & wrath increast
All around his bosom roll’d,
Crown’d with warlike fires & raging desires.

“Come hither my sparrows,
My little arrows.
If a tear or a smile
Will a man beguile,
If an amorous delay
Clouds a sunshiny day,
If the step of a foot
Smites the heart to its root,
’Tis the marriage ring
Makes each fairy a king.”

 

So a fairy sung.
From the leaves I sprung.
He leap’d from the spray
To flee away.
But in my hat caught
He soon shall be taught.
Let him laugh, let him cry,
He’s my butterfly;
For I’ve pull’d out the sting
Of the marriage ring.

The sword sung on the barren heath,
The sickle in the fruitful field:
The sword he sung a song of death,
But could not make the sickle yield.

Abstinence sows sand all over
The ruddy limbs & flaming hair,
But Desire Gratified
Plants fruits of life & beauty there.

In a wife I would desire
What in whores is always found—
The lineaments of Gratified desire.