William Blake
William Blake
William Blakewas 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. His prophetic works have been said to form "what is in proportion to its merits the least read body of poetry in the English language". His visual artistry led one contemporary art critic to proclaim him "far and away the greatest artist Britain has ever produced". In...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPhilosopher
Date of Birth28 November 1757
O Rose, thou art sick! The invisible worm, That flies in the night, In the howling storm, Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy; And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy
I thought Love lived in the hot sunshine,But O, he lives in the moony light!I thought to find Love in the heat of day,But sweet Love is the comforter of night.
Love seeketh not itself to please, but for another gives its ease.
I have mental joys and mental health,Mental friends and mental wealth,I've a wife that I love and that loves me;I've all but riches bodily.
To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love / All pray in their distress.
Does the Eagle know what is in the pit / Or wilt thou go ask the Mole? / Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod, / Or Love in a golden bowl?
Never seek to tell thy love, / Love that never told can be; / For the gentle wind does move / Silently, invisibly.
They suppose that Woman's Love is Sin; in consequence all the Loves & Graces with them are Sin.
And Father, how can I love youOr any of my brothers more?I love you like the little birdThat picks up crumbs around the door.
Bring me an axe and spade, Bring me a winding-sheet; When I my grave have made Let winds and tempests beat: Then down I'll lie as cold as clay. True love doth pass away!
The Woman that does not love your Frowns Will never embrace your smiles.
Embraces are comminglings from the head even to the feet, And not a pompous high priest entering by a secret place.
I cry, Love! Love! Love! happy happy Love! free as the mountain wind!
The look of love alarms Because 'tis filled with fire; But the look of soft deceit Shall sin the lover's hire.