DOVER THRIFT EDITIONS
GENERAL EDITOR: STANLEY APPELBAUM
EDITOR OF THIS VOLUME: THOMAS CROFTS
Copyright
Copyright © 1995 by Dover Publications, Inc.
All rights reserved under Pan American and International Copyright Conventions.
Bibliographical Note
This Dover edition, first published in 1995, is a new selection by David and Virginia Erdman from The Complete Poetry and Prose of William Blake, edited by David Erdman, University of California Press, Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1965. The introductory Note, table of contents and index of titles and first lines have been prepared specially for the present edition.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Blake, William, 1757-1827.
[Poems. Selections]
Blake’s selected poems / edited by David and Virginia Erdman.
p. cm. — (Dover thrift editions)
Includes index.
9780486114187
I. Erdman, David V. II. Erdman, Virginia. III. Title. IV. Series.
PR4142.E7 1995
821’.7 — dc20
95-43180
CIP
Manufactured in the United States of America
Dover Publications, Inc., 31 East 2nd Street, Mineola, N.Y. 11501
Note
THE EARLY YOUTH OF THE POET, painter and engraver William Blake (1757-1827) was peaceful enough to allow him a comfortable, dreamy childhood and an unmolested beginning as an artist. His father, James Blake, a prosperous London haberdasher, encouraged his son’s creative tendencies, sending him first to Pars’s Drawing School, and later to the Royal Academy of Arts. Training as an artist and engraver, and reading Shakespeare, the King James Bible and Milton, the young Blake thought of England as a hale and happy Albion that bred beautiful poets and fostered beatific visions. During his apprentice days, however, the turbulence of the times began to make itself felt. The reign of George III (1760-1820) was marked in general by stormy relations between monarch, parliament and people. The British economy was staggered by the expense of the Seven Years’ War; and unrest in the American colonies served to divide public opinion and further destabilize royal authority. In 1766, when Blake was nine, royal troops fired into a crowd protesting the arrest of a popular parliamentarian and, in what was called the Massacre at St. George’s Fields, killed seven citizens. This was followed by the official (though probably untrue) announcement that “His Majesty is highly pleased” by the action of his troops. In 1770 the Boston Massacre occurred, angering the multitudes of British subjects who felt solidarity with the rebelling colonists. And in 1780 the Gordon Riots occurred, in which, for seven days, Londoners protesting George’s policies in the New World broke open jails, freed prisoners and burned buildings; Blake was then 22 and in the crowd (though it is not thought that he had any hand in the destruction of property).
Coming of age in this London, Blake had found social and intellectual company among fellow artisans, painters and writers, and with them was electrified by the upheavals of the period, responding with them to the problems arising from industrial expansion, revolutions in America and France, and in general what were considered to be the evils of imperialism. The effect of these events upon Blake’s painting and poetry are well known. It took him from the carefree poems and songs of his youth (“How sweet I roam’d from field to field”) to the high rhetoric of prophecy (“The shadowy daughter of Urthona stood . . .”). But Blake had more modes than just these two.
This selection of the poems attempts to follow the lyrical impulse of the poet through the various phases of his writing. It includes the shorter pieces written during his youthful, non-prophetic phase; a large group of the political and satirical verses; epigrams; and lyric pieces from the prophecies. While some of these poems are to be found within the major poems and collections (Marriage of Heaven and Hell, Songs of Innocence and Experience), many are of scattered origins and stray through Blake’s oeuvre unattached to the longer, more fully developed projects. These come from notebooks, odd manuscripts and prose works (Jerusalem, An Island in the Moon) which are interspersed with songs and poems. As well, there are many philosophical explorations and humorous divagations which, wonderful as they are, are often neglected in favor of Blake’s more polished work. This book is an inclusive, well-rounded survey of the poet who, though thought of as a visionary and a prophet, also enjoyed scatological humor, urbane couplets and self-mockery. Like most great artists, Blake defies all efforts at crude categorizing.
Mr. and Mrs. Erdman have brought together a valuable collection of Blake’s work which may serve as an index of the poet’s preoccupations from youth to middle age; an introduction to his total body of work; and a testament to the ecstatic range of Blake’s lyric gift.
Blake’s own idiosyncratic spelling, punctuation and capitalization have been preserved.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Note
To Spring
To Summer
To Autumn
To Winter
To the Evening Star
To Morning
Fair Elenor
Song
Song
Song
Song
Song
Mad Song
Song
Song
To the Muses
Gwin, King of Norway
An Imitation of Spenser
Blind-man’s Buff
Song 1st by a Shepherd
Song 3d by an Old Shepherd
“Never pain to tell thy Love”
“I feard the fury of my wind”
“I saw a chapel all of gold”
“I laid me down upon a bank”
A Cradle Song
“I askéd a thief to steal me a peach”
To My Mirtle
“O lapwing thou fliest around the heath”
An Answer to the Parson
[Experiment]
Riches
“If you trap the moment before its ripe”
“I heard an Angel singing”
“Silent Silent Night”
To Nobodaddy
[How to know Love from Deceit]
The Wild Flowers Song
Soft Snow
“Why should I care for the men of thames”
Day
“The sword sung on the barren heath”
“Abstinence sows sand all over”
“In a wife I would desire”
Lacedemonian Instruction
“An old maid early eer I knew”
Several Questions Answerd
An Ancient Proverb
The Fairy
“My Spectre around me night & day”
[Postscript]
“Mock on Mock on Voltaire Rousseau”
Morning
The Birds
“Why was Cupid a Boy”
To the Queen
“The Caverns of the Grave Ive seen”
“I rose up at the dawn of day”
“A fairy skipd upon my knee”
To Mrs Ann Flaxman
The Smile
The Golden Net
The Mental Traveller
The Land of Dreams
Mary
The Crystal Cabinet
The Grey Monk
Auguries of Innocence
William Bond
“When old corruption first begun”
“Hail Matrimony made of Love”
“To Be or Not to Be”
“This city & this country has brought forth many mayors”
“Upon a holy thursday their innocent faces clean
”
“When the tongues of children are heard on the green”
“O father father where are you going”
“O I say you Joe”
“Theres Doctor Clash”
The Book of Thel
A Divine Image
Motto to the Songs of Innocence & of Experience
“Let the Brothels of Paris be opened”
“Who will exchange his own fire side”
“When Klopstock England defied”
“Great things are done when men & mountains meet”
“If you play a Game of Chance know before you begin”
“If I eer Grow to Mans Estate”
The Argument
Proverbs of Hell
A Song of Liberty
Preludium
The Song of Los
“And did those feet in ancient time”
“The fields from Islington to Marybone”
“I saw a Monk of Charlemaine”
[From The Everlasting Gospel]
Alphabetical List of Titles and First Lines
DOVER THRIFT EDITIONS - POETRY
To Spring
O thou, with dewy locks, who lookest down
Thro’ 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 each other, and the list’ning
Vallies hear; all our longing eyes are turned
Up to thy bright pavillions: issue forth,
And let thy holy feet visit our clime.
Come o’er the eastern hills, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste
Upon our love-sick 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 were bound up for thee!
To Summer
O thou, who passest thro’ our vallies in
Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat
That flames from their large nostrils! thou, O Summer,
Oft pitched’st here thy golden tent, and oft
Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld
With joy, thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.
Beneath our thickest shades we oft have heard
Thy voice, when noon upon his fervid car
Rode o’er the deep of heaven; beside our springs
Sit down, and in our mossy vallies, on
Some bank beside a river clear, throw thy
Silk draperies off, and rush into the stream:
Our vallies love the Summer in his pride.
Our bards are fam’d who strike the silver wire:
Our youth are bolder than the southern swains:
Our maidens fairer in the sprightly dance:
We lack not songs, nor instruments of joy,
Nor echoes sweet, nor waters clear as heaven,
Nor laurel wreaths against the sultry heat.
To Autumn
O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof, there thou may’st rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe;
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.
“The narrow bud opens her beauties to
“The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
“Blossoms hang round the brows of morning, and
“Flourish down the bright cheek of modest eve,
“Till clust’ring Summer breaks forth into singing,
“And feather’d clouds strew flowers round her head.
“The spirits of the air live on the smells
“Of fruit; and joy, with pinions light, roves round
“The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.”
Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat,
Then rose, girded himself, and o’er the bleak
Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.
To Winter
O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors:
The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark
Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs,
Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.
He hears me not, but o‘er the yawning deep
Rides heavy; his storms are unchain’d; sheathed
In ribbed steel, I dare not lift mine eyes;
For he hath rear’d his sceptre o’er the world.
Lo! now the direful monster, whose skin clings
To his strong bones, strides o’er the groaning rocks:
He withers all in silence, and his hand
Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life.
He takes his seat upon the cliffs, the mariner
Cries in vain. Poor little wretch! that deal’st
With storms; till heaven smiles, and the monster
Is driv’n yelling to his caves beneath mount Hecla.
To the Evening Star
Thou fair-hair’d angel of the evening,
Now, while the sun rests on the mountains, light
Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown
Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!
Smile on our loves; and, while thou drawest the
Blue curtains of the sky, scatter thy silver dew
On every flower that shuts its sweet eyes
In timely sleep. Let thy west wind sleep on
The lake; speak si[1]ence with thy glimmering eyes,
And wash the dusk with silver. Soon, full soon,
Dost thou withdraw; then the wolf rages wide,
And the lion glares thro’ the dun forest:
The fleeces of our flocks are cover’d with
Thy sacred dew: protect them with thine influence.
To Morning
O holy virgin! clad in purest white,
Unlock heav’n’s golden gates, and issue forth;
Awake the dawn that sleeps in heaven; let light
Rise from the chambers of the east, and bring
The honied dew that cometh on waking day.
O radiant morning, salute the sun,
Rouz’d like a huntsman to the chace; and, with
Thy buskin’d feet, appear upon our hills.
Fair Elenor
The bell struck one, and shook the silent tower;
The graves give up their dead: fair Elenor
Walk’d by the castle gate, and looked in.
A hollow groan ran thro’ the dreary vaults.
She shriek’d aloud, and sunk upon the steps
On the cold stone her pale cheek. Sickly smells
Of death, issue as from a sepulchre,
And all is silent but the sighing vaults.
Chill death withdraws his hand, and she revives;
Amaz’d, she finds herself upon her feet,
And, like a ghost, thro’ narrow passages
Walking, feeling the cold walls with her hands.
Fancy returns, and now she thinks of bones,
And grinning skulls, and corruptible death,
Wrap’d in his shroud; and now, fancies she hears
Deep sighs, and sees pale sickly ghosts gliding.
At length, no fancy, but reality
Distracts her. A rushing sound, and the feet
Of one that fled, approaches — Ellen stood,
Like a dumb statue, froze to stone with fear.
The wretch approaches, crying, “The deed is done;
“Take this, and send it by whom thou wilt send;
“It is my life — send it to Elenor: —
“He’s dead, and howling after me for blood!
“Take this,” he cry’d; and thrust into
her arms
A wet napkin, wrap’d about; then rush’d
Past, howling: she receiv’d into her arms
Pale death, and follow’d on the wings of fear.
They pass’d swift thro’ the outer gate; the wretch,
Howling, leap’d o’er the wall into the moat,
Stifling in mud. Fair Ellen pass’d the bridge,
And heard a gloomy voice cry, “Is it done?”
As the deer wounded Ellen flew over
The pathless plain; as the arrows that fly
By night; destruction flies, and strikes in darkness,
She fled from fear, till at her house arriv’d.
Her maids await her; on her bed she falls,
That bed of joy, where erst her lord hath press’d:
“Ah, woman’s fear!” she cry’d; “Ah, cursed duke!
“Ah, my dear lord! ah, wretched Elenor!
“My lord was like a flower upon the brows
“Of lusty May! Ah, life as frail as flower!
“O ghastly death! withdraw thy cruel hand,
“Seek‘st thou that flow’r to deck thy horrid temples?
“My lord was like a star, in highest heav’n
“Drawn down to earth by spells and wickedness:
“My lord was like the opening eyes of day,
“When western winds creep softly o’er the flowers:
“But he is darken’d; like the summer’s noon,
“Clouded; fall’n like the stately tree, cut down;
“The breath of heaven dwelt among his leaves.
“O Elenor, weak woman, fill’d with woe!”
Thus having spoke, she raised up her head,