CRADLE SONG
by: William Blake (1757-1827)
 LEEP, 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.
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- O the cunning wiles that creep
- In thy little heart asleep!
- When thy little heart doth wake,
- Then the dreadful night shall break.
JERUSALEM (from 'Milton')
by: William Blake (1757-1827)
 ND did those feet in ancient time
- Walk upon England's mountains green?
- And was the holy Lamb of God
- On England's pleasant pastures seen?
-
- And did the Countenance Divine
- Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
- And was Jerusalem builded here
- Among these dark Satanic Mills?
-
- Bring me my bow of burning gold!
- Bring me my arrows of desire!
- Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold!
- Bring me my chariot of fire!
-
- I will not cease from mental fight,
- Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
- Till we have built Jerusalem
- In England's green and pleasant land.
| HEAR THE VOICE
by: William Blake (1757-1827)
 EAR the voice of the Bard,
- Who present, past, and future, sees;
- Whose ears have heard
- The Holy Word
- That walk'd among the ancient trees;
-
- Calling the lapsèd soul,
- And weeping in the evening dew;
- That might control
- The starry pole,
- And fallen, fallen light renew!
-
- 'O Earth, O Earth, return!
- Arise from out the dewy grass!
- Night is worn,
- And the morn
- Rises from the slumbrous mass.
-
- 'Turn away no more;
- Why wilt thou turn away?
- The starry floor,
- The watery shore,
- Is given thee till the break of day.'
A POISON TREE
by: William Blake (1757-1827)
 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 watered it in fears,
- Night and morning with my tears;
- And I sunnèd it with 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 veiled the pole:
- In the morning glad I see
- My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
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