Great Throughts Treasury

"The Divine Image - To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love All pray in their distress; And to these virtues of delight Return their thankfulness. For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love Is God, our Father dear, And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love Is man, His child and care. For Mercy has a human heart, Pity a human face, And Love, the human form divine, And Peace, the human dress. Then every man, of every clime, That prays in his distress, Prays to the human form divine, Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace. And all must love the human form, In heathen, Turk, or Jew; Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell There God is dwelling too."

"The Human Abstract - Pity would be no more If we did not make somebody poor; And Mercy no more could be If all were as happy as we. And mutual fear brings peace, Till the selfish loves increase; Then Cruelty knits a snare, And spreads his baits with care. He sits down with holy fears, And waters the ground with tears; Then Humility takes its root Underneath his foot. Soon spreads the dismal shade Of Mystery over his head; And the caterpillar and fly Feed on the Mystery. And it bears the fruit of Deceit, Ruddy and sweet to eat; And the raven his nest has made In its thickest shade. The Gods of the earth and sea Sought thro’ Nature to find this tree; But their search was all in vain: There grows one in the Human brain. [END OF THE SONGS OF EXPERIENCE] "

"I heard an Angel singing When the day was springing: ‘Mercy, Pity, Peace Is the world’s release.’ Thus he sang all day Over the new-mown hay, Till the sun went down, And haycocks lookèd brown. I heard a Devil curse Over the heath and the furze: ‘Mercy could be no more If there was nobody poor, ‘And Pity no more could be, If all were as happy as we.’ At his curse the sun went down, And the heavens gave a frown. [Down pour’d the heavy rain Over the new reap’d grain; And Misery’s increase Is Mercy, Pity, Peace.]"

"On Another’s Sorrow - Can I see another’s woe, And not be in sorrow too? Can I see another’s grief, And not seek for kind relief? Can I see a falling tear, And not feel my sorrow’s share? Can a father see his child Weep, nor be with sorrow fill’d? Can a mother sit and hear An infant groan, an infant fear? No, no! never can it be! Never, never can it be! And can He who smiles on all Hear the wren with sorrows small, Hear the small bird’s grief and care, Hear the woes that infants bear, And not sit beside the nest, Pouring pity in their breast; And not sit the cradle near, Weeping tear on infant’s tear; And not sit both night and day, Wiping all our tears away? O, no! never can it be! Never, never can it be! He doth give His joy to all; He becomes an infant small; He becomes a man of woe; He doth feel the sorrow too. Think not thou canst sigh a sigh, And thy Maker is not by; Think not thou canst weep a tear, And thy Maker is not near. O! He gives to us His joy That our grief He may destroy; Till our grief is fled and gone He doth sit by us and moan."

"To be or not to be Of great capacity, Like Sir Isaac Newton, Or Locke, or Doctor South, Or Sherlock upon Death— I’d rather be Sutton! 2 For he did build a house For agèd men and youth, With walls of brick and stone; He furnish’d it within With whatever he could win, And all his own. He drew out of the Stocks His money in a box, And sent his servant To Green the Bricklayer, And to the Carpenter; He was so fervent. The chimneys were threescore, The windows many more; And, for convenience, He sinks and gutters made, And all the way he pav’d To hinder pestilence. Was not this a good man— Whose life was but a span, Whose name was Sutton— As Locke, or Doctor South, Or Sherlock upon Death, Or Sir Isaac Newton?"

"Leave, O leave me to my sorrows; Here I’ll sit and fade away, Till I’m nothing but a spirit, And I lose this form of clay. Then if chance along this forest Any walk in pathless ways, Thro’ the gloom he’ll see my shadow Hear my voice upon the breeze."

"When Old Corruption first begun, Adorn’d in yellow vest, He committed on Flesh a whoredom— O, what a wicked beast! From then a callow babe did spring, And Old Corruption smil’d To think his race should never end, For now he had a child. He call’d him Surgery and fed The babe with his own milk; For Flesh and he could ne’er agree: She would not let him suck. And this he always kept in mind; And form’d a crooked knife, And ran about with bloody hands To seek his mother’s life. And as he ran to seek his mother He met with a dead woman. He fell in love and married her— A deed which is not common! She soon grew pregnant, and brought forth Scurvy and Spotted Fever, The father grinn’d and skipt about, And said ‘I’m made for ever! ‘For now I have procur’d these imps I’ll try experiments.’ With that he tied poor Scurvy down, And stopt up all its vents. And when the child began to swell He shouted out aloud— ‘I’ve found the dropsy out, and soon Shall do the world more good.’ He took up Fever by the neck, And cut out all its spots; And, thro’ the holes which he had made, He first discover’d guts."

"Hail Matrimony, made of Love! To thy wide gates how great a drove On purpose to be yok’d do come; Widows and Maids and Youths also, That lightly trip on beauty’s toe, Or sit on beauty’s bum. Hail fingerfooted lovely Creatures! The females of our human natures, Formèd to suckle all Mankind. ’Tis you that come in time of need, Without you we should never breed, Or any comfort find. For if a Damsel’s blind or lame, Or Nature’s hand has crook’d her frame, Or if she’s deaf, or is wall-eyed; Yet, if her heart is well inclin’d, Some tender lover she shall find That panteth for a Bride. The universal Poultice this, To cure whatever is amiss In Damsel or in Widow gay! It makes them smile, it makes them skip; Like birds, just curèd of the pip, They chirp and hop away. Then come, ye maidens! come, ye swains! Come and be cur’d of all your pains In Matrimony’s Golden Cage— 2"

"There souls of men are bought and sold, And milk-fed Infancy for gold; And Youth to slaughter-houses led, And Beauty, for a bit of bread."

"If it is true, what the Prophets write, That the heathen gods are all stocks and stones, Shall we, for the sake of being polite, Feed them with the juice of our marrow-bones? And if Bezaleel and Aholiab drew What the finger of God pointed to their view, Shall we suffer the Roman and Grecian rods To compel us to worship them as gods? They stole them from the temple of the Lord And worshipp’d them that they might make inspirèd art abhorr’d; The wood and stone were call’d the holy things, And their sublime intent given to their kings. All the atonements of Jehovah spurn’d, And criminals to sacrifices turn’d."

"Infant Sorrow - 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 and 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 and wile I began to soothe and 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, beyond, a Myrtle-tree Stretch’d its blossoms out to me. But a Priest with holy look, In his hands a holy book, Pronouncèd curses on his head Who the fruits or blossoms shed. I beheld the Priest by night; He embrac’d my Myrtle bright: I beheld the Priest by day, Where beneath my vines he lay. Like a serpent in the day Underneath my vines he lay: Like a serpent in the night He embrac’d my Myrtle bright. So I smote him, and his gore Stain’d the roots my Myrtle bore; But the time of youth is fled, And grey hairs are on my head."

"The Land of Dreams - Awake, awake, my little boy! Thou wast thy mother’s only joy; Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep? Awake! thy father does thee keep. ‘O, what land is the Land of Dreams? What are its mountains, and what are its streams? O father! I saw my mother there, Among the lilies by waters fair. ‘Among the lambs, clothèd in white, She walk’d with her Thomas in sweet delight. I wept for joy, like a dove I mourn; O! when shall I again return?’ Dear child, I also by pleasant streams Have wander’d all night in the Land of Dreams; But tho’ calm and warm the waters wide, I could not get to the other side. ‘Father, O father! what do we here In this land of unbelief and fear? The Land of Dreams is better far, Above the light of the morning star.’"

"A Divine Image - Cruelty has a human heart, And Jealousy a human face; Terror the human form divine, And Secrecy the human dress. The human dress is forgèd iron, The human form a fiery forge, The human face a furnace seal’d, The human heart its hungry gorge. "

"You don’t believe—I won’t attempt to make ye: You are asleep—I won’t attempt to wake ye. Sleep on! sleep on! while in your pleasant dreams Of Reason you may drink of Life’s clear streams. Reason and Newton, they are quite two things; For so the swallow and the sparrow sings. Reason says ‘Miracle’: Newton says ‘Doubt.’ Aye! that’s the way to make all Nature out. ‘Doubt, doubt, and don’t believe without experiment’: That is the very thing that Jesus meant, When He said ‘Only believe! believe and try! Try, try, and never mind the reason why!’"

"The Golden Net - Three Virgins at the break of day:— ‘Whither, young man, whither away? Alas for woe! alas for woe!’ They cry, and tears for ever flow. The one was cloth’d in flames of fire, The other cloth’d in iron wire, The other cloth’d in tears and sighs Dazzling bright before my eyes. They bore a Net of golden twine To hang upon the branches fine. Pitying I wept to see the woe That Love and Beauty undergo, To be consum’d in burning fires And in ungratified desires, And in tears cloth’d night and day Melted all my soul away. When they saw my tears, a smile That did Heaven itself beguile, Bore the Golden Net aloft, As on downy pinions soft, Over the Morning of my day. Underneath the net I stray, Now entreating Burning Fire Now entreating Iron Wire, Now entreating Tears and Sighs— O! when will the morning rise?"

"I Fear'd the fury of my wind Would blight all blossoms fair and true; And my sun it shin’d and shin’d, And my wind it never blew. But a blossom fair or true Was not found on any tree; For all blossoms grew and grew Fruitless, false, tho’ fair to see."

"Earth’s Answer - Earth rais’d up her head From the darkness dread and drear. Her light fled, Stony dread! And her locks cover’d with grey despair. ‘Prison’d on wat’ry shore, Starry Jealousy does keep my den: Cold and hoar, Weeping o’er, I hear the Father of the Ancient Men. ‘Selfish Father of Men! Cruel, jealous, selfish Fear! Can delight, Chain’d in night, The virgins of youth and morning bear? ‘Does spring hide its joy When buds and blossoms grow? Does the sower Sow by night, Or the ploughman in darkness plough? ‘Break this heavy chain That does freeze my bones around. Selfish! vain! Eternal bane! That free Love with bondage bound.’"

"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 skylark sings with me. O! what sweet company. But to go to school in a summer morn, O! it drives all joy away; Under a cruel eye outworn, The little ones spend the day In sighing and dismay. Ah! then at times I drooping sit, And spend many an anxious hour, Nor in my book can I take delight, Nor sit in learning’s bower, Worn thro’ with the dreary shower. How can the bird that is born for joy Sit in a cage and sing? How can a child, when fears annoy, But droop his tender wing, And forget his youthful spring? O! father and mother, if buds are nipp’d And blossoms blown away, And if the tender plants are stripp’d Of their joy in the springing day, By sorrow and care’s dismay, How shall the summer arise in joy, Or the summer fruits appear? Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy, Or bless the mellowing year, When the blasts of winter appear?"

"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 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 veil’d the pole: In the morning glad I see My foe outstretch’d beneath the tree. "

"The Mental Traveller - I Travell'd thro’ a land of men, A land of men and women too; And heard and saw such dreadful things As cold earth-wanderers never knew. For there the Babe is born in joy That was begotten in dire woe; Just as we reap in joy the fruit Which we in bitter tears did sow. And if the Babe is born a boy He’s given to a Woman Old, Who nails him down upon a rock, Catches his shrieks in cups of gold. She binds iron thorns around his head, She pierces both his hands and feet, She cuts his heart out at his side, To make it feel both cold and heat. Her fingers number every nerve, Just as a miser counts his gold; She lives upon his shrieks and cries, And she grows young as he grows old. Till he becomes a bleeding Youth, And she becomes a Virgin bright; Then he rends up his manacles, And binds her down for his delight. He plants himself in all her nerves, Just as a husbandman his mould; And she becomes his dwelling-place And garden fruitful seventyfold. And agèd Shadow, soon he fades, Wandering round an earthly cot, Full fillèd all with gems and gold Which he by industry had got. And these 1 are the gems of the human soul, The rubies and pearls of a love-sick eye, The countless gold of the aching heart, The martyr’s groan and the lover’s sigh. They are his meat, they are his drink; He feeds the beggar and the poor And the wayfaring traveller: For ever open is his door. His grief is their eternal joy; They make the roofs and walls to ring; Till from the fire on the hearth A little Female Babe does spring. And she is all of solid fire And gems and gold, that none his hand Dares stretch to touch her baby form, Or wrap her in his swaddling-band. But she comes to the man she loves, If young or old, or rich or poor; They soon drive out the Agèd Host, A beggar at another’s door. He wanders weeping far away, Until some other take him in; Oft blind and age-bent, sore distrest, Until he can a Maiden win. And to allay his freezing age, The poor man takes her in his arms; The cottage fades before his sight, The garden and its lovely charms. The guests are scatter’d thro’ the land, For the eye altering alters all; The senses roll themselves in fear, And the flat earth becomes a ball; The stars, sun, moon, all shrink away, A desert vast without a bound, And nothing left to eat or drink, And a dark desert all around. The honey of her infant lips, The bread and wine of her sweet smile, The wild game of her roving eye, Does him to infancy beguile; For as he eats and drinks he grows Younger and younger every day; And on the desert wild they both Wander in terror and dismay. Like the wild stag she flees away, Her fear plants many a thicket wild; While he pursues her night and day, By various arts of love beguil’d; By various arts of love and hate, Till the wide desert planted o’er With labyrinths of wayward love, Where roam the lion, wolf, and boar. Till he becomes a wayward Babe, And she a weeping Woman Old. Then many a lover wanders here; The sun and stars are nearer roll’d; The trees bring forth sweet ecstasy To all who in the desert roam; Till many a city there is built, And many a pleasant shepherd’s home. But when they find the Frowning Babe, Terror strikes thro’ the region wide: They cry ‘The Babe! the Babe is born!’ And flee away on every side. For who dare touch the Frowning Form, His arm is wither’d to its root; Lions, boars, wolves, all howling flee, And every tree does shed its fruit. And none can touch that Frowning Form, Except it be a Woman Old; She nails him down upon the rock, And all is done as I have told."

"His whole life is an epigram smart, smooth and neatly penn’d, Plaited quite neat to catch applause, with a hang-noose at the end. "

"Do what you will this life’s a fiction, And is made up of contradiction."

"The Grey Monk - ‘I die, die!’ the Mother said, ‘My children die for lack of bread. What more has the merciless tyrant said?’ The Monk sat down on the stony bed. The blood red ran from the Grey Monk’s side, His hands and feet were wounded wide, His body bent, his arms and knees Like to the roots of ancient trees. His eye was dry; no tear could flow: A hollow groan first spoke his woe. He trembled and shudder’d upon the bed; At length with a feeble cry he said: ‘When God commanded this hand to write In the studious hours of deep midnight, He told me the writing I wrote should prove The bane of all that on Earth I love. ‘My brother starv’d between two walls, His children’s cry my soul appalls; I mock’d at the wrack and griding chain, My bent body mocks their torturing pain. ‘Thy father drew his sword in the North, With his thousands strong he marchèd forth, Thy brother has arm’d himself in steel, To avenge the wrongs thy children feel. ‘But vain the sword and vain the bow, They never can work War’s overthrow. The hermit’s prayer and the widow’s tear Alone can free the world from fear. ‘For a tear is an intellectual thing, And a sigh is the sword of an Angel King, And the bitter groan of the martyr’s woe Is an arrow from the Almighty’s bow. ‘The hand of Vengeance found the bed To which the purple tyrant fled; The iron hand crush’d the tyrant’s head, And became a tyrant in his stead.’"

"To God - If you have form’d a circle to go into, Go into it yourself, and see how you would do. "

"To my Dearest Friend, John Flaxman, these lines: I Bless thee, O Father of Heaven and Earth! that ever I saw Flaxman’s face: Angels stand round my spirit in Heaven; the blessèd of Heaven are my friends upon Earth When Flaxman was taken to Italy, Fuseli was given to me for a season; And now Flaxman hath given me Hayley, his friend, to be mine—such my lot upon Earth! Now my lot in the Heavens is this: Milton lov’d me in childhood and show’d me his face; Ezra came with Isaiah the Prophet, but Shakespeare in riper years gave me his hand; Paracelsus and Behmen appear’d to me; terrors appear’d in the Heavens above; The American War began; all its dark horrors pass’d before my face Across the Atlantic to France; then the French Revolution commenc’d in thick clouds; And my Angels have told me that, seeing such visions, I could not subsist on the Earth, But by my conjunction with Flaxman, who knows to forgive nervous fear."

"Florentine Ingratitude: Sir Joshua sent his own portrait to The birthplace of Michael Angelo, And in the hand of the simpering fool He put a dirty paper scroll, And on the paper, to be polite, Did ‘Sketches by Michael Angelo’ write. The Florentines said ‘’Tis a Dutch-English bore, Michael Angelo’s name writ on Rembrandt’s door.’ The Florentines call it an English fetch, For Michael Angelo never did sketch; 10 Every line of his has meaning, And needs neither suckling nor weaning. ’Tis the trading English-Venetian cant To speak Michael Angelo, and act Rembrandt: It will set his Dutch friends all in a roar To write ‘Mich. Ang.’ on Rembrandt’s door; But you must not bring in your hand a lie If you mean that the Florentines should buy. Giotto’s circle or Apelles’ line Were not the work of sketchers drunk with wine; Nor of the city clock’s running … fashion; Nor of Sir Isaac Newton’s calculation."

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

"These are the idiots’ chiefest arts: To blend and not define the parts The swallow sings, in courts of kings, That fools have their high finishings. And this the princes’ golden rule, The laborious stumble of a fool. To make out the parts is the wise man’s aim, But to loose them the fool makes his foolish game. "

"If you trap the moment before it’s ripe, The tears of repentance you’ll certainly wipe; But if once you let the ripe moment go, You can never wipe off the tears of woe."

"My Eternal Man set in repose, The Female from his darkness rose; And she found me beneath a Tree, Mandrake, and in her Veil hid me. Serpent Reasonings us entice Of good and evil, virtue and vice, Doubt self-jealous, Watery folly; Struggling thro’ Earth’s melancholy; Naked in Air, in shame and fear; Blind in Fire, with shield and spear; Two-horn’d Reasoning, cloven fiction, In doubt, which is self-contradiction, A dark Hermaphrodite we stood— Rational truth, root of evil and good. Round me flew the Flaming Sword; Round her snowy Whirlwinds roar’d, Freezing her Veil, the Mundane Shell. I rent the Veil where the Dead dwell: When weary Man enters his Cave, He meets his Saviour in the grave. Some find a Female Garment there, And some a Male, woven with care; Lest the Sexual Garments sweet Should grow a devouring Winding-sheet. dies! Alas! the Living and Dead! One is slain! and One is fled! Vain-glory hatcht and nurst, By double Spectres, self-accurst. My Son! my Son! thou treatest me But as I have instructed thee. the shadows of the Moon, Climbing thro’ Night’s highest noon; Time’s Ocean falling, drown’d; In Agèd Ignorance profound, Holy and cold, I clipp’d the wings Of all sublunary things, And in depths of my dungeons Closed the Father and the Sons. But when once I did descry The Immortal Man that cannot die, Thro’ evening shades I haste away To close the labours of my day. The Door of Death I open found, And the Worm weaving in the ground: Thou’rt my Mother, from the womb; Wife, Sister, Daughter, to the tomb; Weaving to dreams the Sexual strife, And weeping over the Web of Life."

"Truly, my Satan, thou art but a dunce, And dost not know the garment from the man; Every harlot was a virgin once, Nor canst thou ever change Kate into Nan. Tho’ thou art worship’d by the names divine Of Jesus and Jehovah, thou art still The Son of Morn in weary Night’s decline, The lost traveller’s dream under the hill."

"Mutual Forgiveness of each vice, Such are the Gates of Paradise, Against the Accuser’s chief desire, Who walk’d among the stones of fire. Jehovah’s Finger wrote the Law; Then wept; then rose in zeal and awe, And the dead corpse, from Sinai’s heat, Buried beneath His Mercy-seat. "

"This theme calls me in sleep night after night, and ev’ry morn Awakes me at sunrise; then I see the Saviour over me Spreading His beams of love, and dictating the words of this mild song: ‘Awake! Awake! O sleeper of the Land of Shadows, wake! expand! I am in you, and you in Me, mutual in Love Divine; Fibres of love from man to man thro’ Albion’s pleasant land.’"

"There is No Natural Religion - THE ARGUMENT MAN has no notion of moral fitness but from Education. Naturally, he is only a Natural Organ, subject to Sense. Man cannot naturally perceive but through his Natural or Bodily Organs. Man, by his Reasoning Power, can only compare and judge of what he has already perceiv’d. 3 From a Perception of only three Senses, or three Elements, none could deduce a fourth or fifth. None could have other than Natural or Organic Thoughts if he had none but Organic Perceptions. Man’s Desires are limited by his Perceptions; none can desire what he has not perceiv’d. The Desires and Perceptions of Man, untaught by anything but Organs of Sense, must be limited to Objects of Sense. CONCLUSION If it were not for the Poetic or Prophetic Character, the Philosophic and Experimental would soon be at the Ratio of all things; and stand still, unable to do other than repeat the same dull round over again. Man’s Perceptions are not bounded by Organs of Perception; he perceives more than Sense (tho’ ever so acute) can discover. Reason, or the Ratio of all we have already known, is not the same that it shall be when we know more. The Bounded is loathed by its possessor. The same dull round, even of a Universe, would soon become a Mill with complicated wheels. If the Many become the same as the Few, when possess’d, ‘More! More!’ is the cry of a mistaken soul: less than All cannot satisfy Man. If any could desire what he is incapable of possessing, Despair must be his Eternal lot. The Desire of Man being Infinite, the possession is Infinite, and himself Infinite. APPLICATION He who sees the Infinite in all things sees God. He who sees the Ratio only, sees himself only. THEREFORE God becomes as we are, that we may be as He is."

"All Religions are One - THE ARGUMENT AS the true method of Knowledge is Experiment, the true faculty of knowing must be the faculty which experiences. This faculty I treat of: Principle 1 That the Poetic Genius is the True Man, and that the Body or Outward Form of Man is derived from the Poetic Genius. Like-wise that the Forms of all things are derived from their Genius, which by the Ancients was call’d an Angel and Spirit and Demon. Principle 2 As all men are alike in Outward Form; so, and with the same infinite variety, all are alike in the Poetic Genius. Principle 3 No man can think, write, or speak from his heart, but he must intend Truth. Thus all sects of Philosophy are from the Poetic Genius, adapted to the weaknesses of every individual. Principle 4 As none by travelling over known lands can find out the unknown; so, from already acquired knowledge, Man could not acquire more; therefore an universal Poetic Genius exists. Principle 5 The Religions of all Nations are derived from each Nation’s different reception of the Poetic Genius, which is everywhere call’d the Spirit of Prophecy. Principle 6 The Jewish and Christian Testaments are an original derivation from the Poetic Genius. This is necessary from the confined nature of bodily sensation. Principle 7 As all men are alike, tho’ infinitely various; so all Religions: and as all similars have one source the True Man is the source, he being the Poetic Genius."

"Eternity appear’d above them as One Man, enfolded In Luvah’s robes of blood, and bearing all his afflictions: As the sun shines down on the misty earth, such was the Vision. But purple Night, and crimson Morning, and golden Day, descending Thro’ the clear changing atmosphere, display’d green fields among The varying clouds, like Paradises stretch’d in the expanse, With towns, and villages, and temples, tents, sheep-folds and pastures, Where dwell the children of the Elemental worlds in harmony."

"Why should Punishment weave the veil with Iron Wheels of War, When Forgiveness might it weave with Wings of Cherubim?"

"I went to the Garden of Love, And saw what I never had seen: A Chapel was built in the midst, Where I used to play on the green. And the gates of this Chapel were shut, And ‘Thou shalt not’ writ over the door; So I turn’d to the Garden of Love That so many sweet flowers bore; And I saw it was fillèd with graves, And tomb-stones where flowers should be; And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds, And binding with briars my joys and desires."

"‘O Dear Mother Outline! of wisdom most sage, What’s the first part of painting?’ She said: ‘Patronage.’ ‘And what is the second, to please and engage?’ She frowned like a fury, and said: ‘Patronage.’ ‘And what is the third? She put off old age, And smil’d like a siren, and said: ‘Patronage."

"My Spectre around me night and day Like a wild beast guards my way; My Emanation far within Weeps incessantly for my sin. ‘A fathomless and boundless deep, There we wander, there we weep; On the hungry craving wind My Spectre follows thee behind. ‘He scents thy footsteps in the snow, Wheresoever thou dost go, Thro’ the wintry hail and rain. When wilt thou return again? ‘Dost thou not in pride and scorn Fill with tempests all my morn, And with jealousies and fears Fill my pleasant nights with tears? ‘Seven of my sweet loves thy knife Has bereavèd of their life. Their marble tombs I built with tears, And with cold and shuddering fears. ‘Seven more loves weep night and day Round the tombs where my loves lay, And seven more loves attend each night Around my couch with torches bright. ‘And seven more loves in my bed Crown with wine my mournful head, Pitying and forgiving all Thy transgressions great and small. ‘When wilt thou return and view My loves, and them to life renew? When wilt thou return and live? When wilt thou pity as I forgive?’ [‘O’er my sins thou sit and moan: Hast thou no sins of thy own? O’er my sins thou sit and weep, And lull thy own sins fast asleep.] [‘What transgressions I commit Are for thy transgressions fit. They thy harlots, thou their slave; And my bed becomes their grave.] ‘Never, never, I return: Still for victory I burn. Living, thee alone I’ll have; And when dead I’ll be thy grave. ‘Thro’ the Heaven and Earth and Hell Thou shalt never, never quell: I will fly and thou pursue: Night and morn the flight renew.’ [‘Poor, pale, pitiable form That I follow in a storm; Iron tears and groans of lead Bind around my aching head.] ‘Till I turn from Female love And root up the Infernal Grove, I shall never worthy be To step into Eternity. ‘And, to end thy cruel mocks, Annihilate thee on the rocks, And another form create To be subservient to my fate. ‘Let us agree to give up love, And root up the Infernal Grove; Then shall we return and see The worlds of happy Eternity. ‘And throughout all Eternity I forgive you, you forgive me. As our dear Redeemer said: “This the Wine, and this the Bread.”’"

"TERRIFIÈD at Non-Existence— For such they deem’d the death of the body—Los his vegetable hands Outstretch’d; his right hand, branching out in fibrous strength, Seiz’d the Sun; his left hand, like dark roots, cover’d the Moon, And tore them down, cracking the heavens across from immense to immense. Then fell the fires of Eternity, with loud and shrill Sound of loud Trumpet, thundering along from heaven to heaven, A mighty sound articulate: ‘Awake! ye Dead, and come To Judgement from the four winds! awake, and come away!’ Folding like scrolls of the enormous volume of Heaven and Earth, With thunderous noise and dreadful shakings, rocking to and fro, The Heavens are shaken, and the Earth removèd from its place; The foundations of the eternal hills discover’d. The thrones of Kings are shaken, they have lost their robes and crowns; The Poor smite their oppressors, they awake up to the harvest; 1 The naked warriors rush together down to the seashore, Trembling before the multitudes of slaves now set at liberty: They are become like wintry flocks, like forests stripp’d of leaves. The Oppressèd pursue like the wind; there is no room for escape.… The Books of Urizen unroll with dreadful noise! The folding Serpent Of Orc began to consume in fierce raving fire; his fierce flames Issu’d on all sides, gathering strength in animating volumes, Roaring abroad on all the winds, raging intense, reddening Into resistless pillars of fire, rolling round and round, gathering Strength from the earths consum’d, and heavens, and all hidden abysses, Where’er the Eagle has explor’d, or Lion or Tiger trod, Or where the comets of the night, or stars of day Have shot their arrows or long-beamèd spears in wrath and fury. And all the while the Trumpet sounds. From the clotted gore, and from the hollow den Start forth the trembling millions into flames of mental fire, Bathing their limbs in the bright visions of Eternity. Then, like the doves from pillars of smoke, the trembling families Of women and children throughout every nation under heaven Cling round the men in bands of twenties and of fifties, pale As snow that falls round a leafless tree upon the green. Their oppressors are fall’n; they have stricken them; they awake to life. Yet, pale, the Just man stands erect, and looking up to Heav’n. Trembling and strucken by the universal stroke, the trees unroot; The rocks groan horrible and run about; the mountains and Their rivers cry with a dismal cry; the cattle gather together, Lowing they kneel before the heavens; the wild beasts of the forests Tremble. The Lion, shuddering, asks the Leopard: ‘Feelest thou The dread I feel, unknown before? My voice refuses to roar, And in weak moans I speak to thee. This night, Before the morning’s dawn, the Eagle call’d the Vulture, The Raven call’d the Hawk. I heard them from my forests, Saying: “Let us go up far, for soon I smell upon the wind A terror coming from the South.” The Eagle and Hawk fled away At dawn, and ere the sun arose, the Raven and Vulture follow’d. Let us flee also to the North.’ They fled. The Sons of Men Saw them depart in dismal droves. The trumpets sounded loud, And all the Sons of Eternity descended into Beulah."

"If Humility is Christianity, you, O Jews! are the true Christians. If your tradition that Man contained in his limbs all animals is true, and they were separated from him by cruel sacrifices, and when compulsory cruel sacrifices had brought Humanity into a Feminine Tabernacle in the loins of Abraham and David, the Lamb of God, the Saviour, became apparent on Earth as the Prophets had fore-told! The return of Israel is a return to mental sacrifice and war. "

"Song of the Sinless Soul - ‘Come forth, O Vala! from the grass and from the silent dew; Rise from the dews of death, for the Eternal Man is risen!’ She rises among flowers and looks toward the eastern clearness; She walks, yea runs—her feet are wing’d—on the tops of the bending grass; Her garments rejoice in the vocal wind, and her hair glistens with dew. She answer’d thus: ‘Whose voice is this in the voice of the nourishing air, In the spirit of the morning, awaking the Soul from its grassy bed? Where dost thou dwell? for it is thee I seek, and but for thee I must have slept eternally, nor have felt the dew of thy morning. Look how the opening dawn advances with vocal harmony! Look how the beams foreshow the rising of some glorious power! The Sun is thine; he goeth forth in his majestic brightness. O thou creating voice that callest! and who shall answer thee? ‘Where dost thou flee, O Fair One! where dost thou seek thy happy place? To yonder brightness? There I haste, for sure I came from thence; Or I must have slept eternally, nor have felt the dew of morning.’ ‘Eternally thou must have slept, nor have felt the morning dew, But for yon nourishing Sun: ’tis that by which thou art arisen. The birds adore the Sun; the beasts rise up and play in his beams, And every flower and every leaf rejoices in his light. Then, O thou Fair One, sit thee down, for thou art as the grass, Thou risest in the dew of morning, and at night art folded up.’ ‘Alas! am I but as a flower? Then will I sit me down; Then will I weep; then I’ll complain, and sigh for immortality, And chide my maker, thee O Sun, that raisedst me to fall.’ So saying she sat down and wept beneath the apple-trees. ‘O! be thou blotted out, thou Sun, that raisedst me to trouble, That gavest me a heart to crave, and raisedst me, thy phantom, To feel thy heart, and see thy light, and wander here alone, Hopeless, if I am like the grass, and so shall pass away.’ ‘Rise, sluggish Soul! Why sitt’st thou here? why dost thou sit and weep? Yon Sun shall wax old and decay, but thou shalt ever flourish. The fruit shall ripen and fall down, and the flowers consume away, But thou shalt still survive. Arise! O dry thy dewy tears!’ ‘Ha! shall I still survive? Whence came that sweet and comforting voice, And whence that voice of sorrow? O Sun! thou art nothing now to me: Go on thy course rejoicing, and let us both rejoice together! I walk among His flocks and hear the bleating of His lambs. O! that I could behold His face and follow His pure feet! I walk by the footsteps of His flocks. Come hither, tender flocks! Can you converse with a pure Soul that seeketh for her Maker? You answer not: then am I set your mistress in this garden. I’ll watch you and attend your footsteps. You are not like the birds That sing and fly in the bright air; but you do lick my feet, And let me touch your woolly backs: follow me as I sing; For in my bosom a new Song arises to my Lord: ‘Rise up, O Sun! most glorious minister and light of day! Flow on, ye gentle airs, and bear the voice of my rejoicing! Wave freshly, clear waters, flowing around the tender grass; And thou, sweet-smelling ground, put forth thy life in fruit and flowers! Follow me, O my flocks, and hear me sing my rapturous song! I will cause my voice to be heard on the clouds that glitter in the sun. I will call, and who shall answer me? I shall sing; who shall reply? For, from my pleasant hills, behold the living, living springs, Running among my green pastures, delighting among my trees! I am not here alone: my flocks, you are my brethren; And you birds, that sing and adorn the sky, you are my sisters. I sing, and you reply to my song; I rejoice, and you are glad. Follow me, O my flocks! we will now descend into the valley. O, how delicious are the grapes, flourishing in the sun! How clear the spring of the rock, running among the golden sand! How cool the breezes of the valley! And the arms of the branching trees Cover us from the sun: come and let us sit in the shade. My Luvah here hath plac’d me in a sweet and pleasant land, And given me fruits and pleasant waters, and warm hills and cool valleys. Here will I build myself a house, and here I’ll call on His name; Here I’ll return, when I am weary, and take my pleasant rest.’"

"The Universal Family - Our Wars are wars of life, and wounds of love, With intellectual spears, and long wingèd arrows of thought. Mutual in one another’s love and wrath all renewing, We live as One Man: for, contracting our Infinite senses, We behold multitude; or, expanding, we behold as One, As One Man all the Universal Family; and that One Man We call Jesus the Christ. And He in us, and we in Him, Live in perfect harmony in Eden, the land of Life, Giving, receiving, and forgiving each other’s trespasses. He is the Good Shepherd, He is the Lord and Master; He is the Shepherd of Albion, He is all in all, In Eden, in the garden of God, and in heavenly Jerusalem. If we have offended, forgive us! take not vengeance against us! "

"The Holiness of Minute Particulars - And many conversèd on these things as they labour’d at the furrow, Saying: ‘It is better to prevent misery than to release from misery; It is better to prevent error than to forgive the criminal. Labour well the Minute Particulars: attend to the Little Ones; And those who are in misery cannot remain so long, If we do but our duty: labour well the teeming Earth.… He who would do good to another must do it in Minute Particulars. General Good is the plea of the scoundrel, hypocrite, and flatterer; For Art and Science cannot exist but in minutely organized Particulars, And not in generalizing Demonstrations of the Rational Power: The Infinite alone resides in Definite and Determinate Identity. Establishment of Truth depends on destruction of Falsehood continually, On Circumcision, not on Virginity, O Reasoners of Albion!"

"A pretence of Art to destroy Art; a pretence of Liberty To destroy Liberty; a pretence of Religion to destroy Religion. "

"Several Questions Answered - [Eternity] HE who bends to himself a Joy Doth the wingèd life destroy; But he who kisses the Joy as it flies Lives in Eternity’s sunrise. The look of love alarms, Because it’s fill’d with fire; But the look of soft deceit Shall win the lover’s hire. Soft deceit and idleness, These are Beauty’s sweetest dress. [The Question answered] What is it men in women do require? The lineaments of gratified desire. What is it women do in men require? The lineaments of gratified desire. An ancient Proverb Remove away that black’ning church, Remove away that marriage hearse, Remove away that man of blood— You’ll quite remove the ancient curse. "

"Since all the riches of this world May be gifts from the Devil and earthly kings, I should suspect that I worshipp’d the Devil If I thank’d my God for worldly things."

"The Clod and the Pebble - ‘Love seeketh not itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care, But for another gives its ease, And builds a Heaven in Hell’s despair.’ So sung a little Clod of Clay, Trodden with the cattle’s feet, But a Pebble of the brook Warbled out these metres meet: ‘Love seeketh only Self to please, To bind another to its delight, Joys in another’s loss of ease, And builds a Hell in Heaven’s despite.’ "

"As I wander’d the forest, The green leaves among, I heard a Wild Flower Singing a song. ‘I slept in the earth 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.’s"