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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 Listening Valleys Hear; All Our Longing Eyes Are Turned Up To Thy Bright Pavilions: 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 Thy Morn And Evening Breath; Scatter Thy Pearls Upon Our Love-sick Land That Mourns For Thee.

-William Blake

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O Thou With Dewy

William Blake

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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 Listening Valleys Hear; All Our Longing Eyes Are Turned Up To Thy Bright Pavilions: 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 Thy Morn And Evening Breath; Scatter Thy Pearls Upon Our Love-sick Land That Mourns For Thee.

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The Pure Soul Shall Mount On Native Wings, . . . And Cut A Path Into The Heaven Of Glory.

He Who Shall Teach The Child To Doubtthe Rotting Grave Shall Ne'er Get Out.

Everything Is Beautiful In Its Own Way. Exuberance Is Beauty.

Gratitude Is Heaven Itself; There Could Be No Heaven Without Gratitude.

Some Say That Happiness Is Not Good For Mortals, & They Ought To Be Answered That Sorrow Is Not Fit For Immortals & Is Utterly Useless To Any One; A Blight Never Does Good To A Tree, & If A Blight Kill Not A Tree But It Still Bear Fruit, Let None Say That The Fruit Was In Consequence Of The Blight.

Christ's Crucifix Shall Be Made An Excuse For Executing Criminals.

To Chloe's Breast Young Cupid Slily Stole, But He Crept In At Myra's Pocket-hole.

The Imagination Is Not A State: It Is The Human Existence Itself.

I Asked A Thief To Steal Me A Peach: He Turned Up His Eyes. I Asked A Lithe Lady To Lie Her Down: Holy And Meek, She Cries. As Soon As I Went An Angel Came. He Winked At The Thief And Smiled At The Dame- And Without One Word Spoke Had A Peach From The Tree, And 'twixt Earnest And Joke Enjoyed The Lady.

We Are Not Meant To Resolve All Contradictions But To Live With Them And Rise Above Them.

How Do You Know But Ev’ry Bird That Cuts The Airy Way, Is An Immense World Of Delight, Clos’d By Your Senses Five?

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.

As I Was Walking Among The Fires Of Hell, Delighted With The Enjoyments Of Genius; Which To Angels Look Like Torment And Insanity, I Collected Some Of Their Proverbs.

The Countless Gold Of A Merry Heart, The Rubies And Pearls Of A Loving Eye, The Indolent Never Can Bring To The Mart, Nor The Secret Hoard Up In His Treasury.

General Good Is The Plea Of The Scoundrel, Hypocite, Flatterer.

A Fool Sees Not The Same Tree That A Wise Man Sees.

Why A Tender Curb Upon The Youthful Burning Boy? Why A Little Curtain Of Flesh On The Bed Of Our Desire?

Without Unceasing Practice Nothing Can Be Done. Practice Is Art. If You Leave Off You Are Lost.

If You Trap The Moment Before It's Ripe, The Tears Of Repentence You'll Certainly Wipe; But If Once You Let The Ripe Moment Go You Can Never Wipe Off The Tears Of Woe.

Improvement Makes Strait Roads, But The Crooked Roads Without Improvement, Are Roads Of Genius.

I Was In A Printing-house In Hell, And Saw The Method In Which Knowledge Is Transmitted From Generation To Generation.

God And His Priest And King,...make Up A Heaven Of Our Misery.

I Wander Thro' Each Charter'd Street, Near Where The Charter'd Thames Does Flow, And Mark In Every Face I Meet Marks Of Weakness, Marks Of Woe. In Every Cry Of Every Man, In Every Infant's Cry Of Fear, In Every Voice, In Every Ban, The Mind-forg'd Manacles I Hear. How The Chimney-sweeper's Cry Every Black'ning Church Appalls; And The Hapless Soldier's Sigh Runs In Blood Down Palace Walls. But Most Thro' Midnight Streets I Hear How The Youthful Harlot's Curse Blasts The New Born Infant's Tear, And Blights With Plagues The Marriage Hearse.

And I Watered It In Fears, Night And Morning With My Tears; And I Sunned It With Smiles, And With Soft Deceitful Wiles.

The Ancient Poets Animated All Sensible Objects With Gods Or Geniuses, Calling Them By The Names And Adorning Them With The Properties Of Woods, Rivers, Mountains, Lakes, Cities, Nations, And Whatever Their Enlarged & Numerous Senses Could Perceive.

I Care Not Whether A Man Is Good Or Evil; All That I Care / Is Whether He Is A Wise Man Or A Fool. Go! Put Off Holiness, / And Put On Intellect.

The Person Who Does Not Believe In Miracles Surely Makes It Certain That He Or She Will Never Take Part In One.

O White-robed Angel, Guide My Timorous Hand To Write As On A Lofty Rock With Iron Pen The Words Of Truth, That All Who Pass May Read.

The World Of Imagination Is The World Of Eternity.

The Goddess Fortune Is The Devil's Servant, Ready To Kiss Any One's Ass.

Those Who Restrain Desire, Do So Because Theirs Is Weak Enough To Be Restrained; And The Restrainer Or Reason Usurps Its Place & Governs The Unwilling. And Being Restrain'd It By Degrees Becomes Passive Till It Is Only The Shadow Of Desire.

Prudence Is A Rich, Ugly, Old Maid Courted By Incapacity.

If You Have Form'd A Circle To Go Into, Go Into It Yourself, And See How You Would Do. They Said This Mystery Never Shall Cease: The Priest Promotes War, And The Soldier Peace.

The Lust Of The Goat Is The Bounty Of God.

Imitation Is Criticism.

Does A Firm Persuasion That A Thing Is So, Make It So?

The Bat That Flits At Close Of Eve Has Left The Brain That Won't Believe. The Owl That Calls Upon The Night Speaks The Unbeliever's Fright.

I Love Hanging And Drawing And Quartering Every Bit As Well As War And Slaughtering.

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.

You Cannot Have Liberty In This World Without What You Call Moral Virtue, And You Cannot Have Moral Virtue Without The Slavery Of That Half Of The Human Race Who Hate What You Call Moral Virtue.

To The Eyes Of The Man Of Imagination, Nature Is Imagination Itself.

Man Has No Body Distinct From His Soul; For That Called Body Is A Portion Of Soul Discerned By The Five Senses, The Chief Inlets Of Soul In This Age.

The Errors Of A Wise Man Make Your Rule Rather Than The Perfections Of A Fool.

Ah, Sunflower, Weary Of Time, Who Countest The Steps Of The Sun, Seeking After That Sweet Golden Clime Where The Traveller's Journey Is Done; Where The Youth Pined Away With Desire And The Pale Virgin Shrouded In Snow Arise From Their Graves, And Aspire Where My Sunflower Wishes To Go.

The Inquiry In England Is Not Whether A Man Has Talents And Genius, But Whether He Is Passive And Polite And A Virtuous Ass And Obedient To Noblemen's Opinions In Art And Science. If He Is, He Is A Good Man. If Not, He Must Be Starved.

Without Minute Neatness Of Execution, The Sublime Cannot Exist! Grandeur Of Ideas Is Founded On Precision Of Ideas.

He Who Kisses Joy As It Flies By Will Live In Eternity's Sunrise.

Eternity Is In Love With The Productions Of Time.

If The Sun And Moon Should Ever Doubt, They'd Immediately Go Out.

None But Blockheads Copy Each Other.

Mere Enthusiasm Is The All In All... / Passion And Expression Are Beauty Itself.

Let Every Christian, As Much As In Him Lies, Engage Himself Openly And Publicly, Before All The World, In Some Mental Pursuit For The Building Up Of Jerusalem.

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Energy Is The Only Life, And Is From The Body; And Reason Is The Bound Or Outward Circumference Of Energy. Energy Is Eternal Delight.

Men Are Admitted Into Heaven Not Because They Have Curbed Or Governed Their Passions, But Because They Have Cultivate Their Understandings.

Why Cannot The Ear Be Closed To Its Own Destruction? Or The Glistening Eye To The Poison Of A Smile?

Every Wolf's And Lion's Howl Raises From Hell A Human Soul.

Sleep, Sleep, Beauty Bright,dreaming O'er The Joys Of Night.sleep, Sleep: In Thy Sleeplittle Sorrows Sit And Weep.

The Foundation Of Empire Is Art And Science. Remove Them Or Degrade Them, And The Empire Is No More. Empire Follows Art And Not Vice Versa As Englishmen Suppose.

A Truth That's Told With Bad Intent Beats All The Lies You Can Invent.

One Power Alone Makes A Poet: Imagination. The Divine Vision.

Piping Down The Valleys Wild, Piping Songs Of Pleasant Glee, On A Cloud I Saw A Child, And He Laughing Said To Me: "pipe A Song About A Lamb." So I Piped With Merry Cheer; "piper, Pipe That Song Again." So I Piped; He Wept To Hear.

All The Destruction In Christian Europe Has Arisen From Deism, Which Is Natural Religion.

Mere Enthusiasm Is The All In All.

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I Will Not Cease From Mental Fight Nor Shall My Sword Sleep In My Hand.

Heaven Is In A Grain Of Sand.

If The Doors Of Perception Were Cleansed Everything Would Appear To Man As It Is, Infinite.

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.

I Have No Name: I Am But Two Days Old. What Shall I Call Thee? I Happy Am, Joy Is My Name. Sweet Joy Befall Thee!

Love To Faults Is Always Blind, Always Is To Joy Inclined. Lawless, Winged, And Unconfined, And Breaks All Chains From Every Mind.

And I Made A Rural Pen, And I Stained The Water Clear, And I Wrote My Happy Songs Every Child May Joy To Hear.

The Child's Toys And The Old Man's Reasons Are The Fruits Of Two Seasons.

When A Man Has Married A Wifehe Finds Out Whetherher Knees & Elbows Are Onlyglued Together.

Mock On, Mock On, Voltaire, Rousseau! Mock On, Mock On: 'tis All In Vain! You Throw The Sand Against The Wind, And The Wind Blows It Back Again. And Every Sand Becomes A Gem Reflected In The Beams Divine; Blown Back They Blind The Mocking Eye, But Still In Israel's Paths They Shine. The Atoms Of Democritus And Newton's Particles Of Light Are Sands Upon The Red Sea Shore, Where Israel's Tents Do Shine So Bright.

Auguries Of Innocence "the Emmet's Inch And Eagle's Mile Make Lame Philosophy To Smile. He Who Doubts From What He Sees Will Ne'er Believe, Do What You Please.

In Every Cry Of Every Man, In Every Infant's Cry Of Fear, In Every Voice, In Every Ban, The Mind-forg'd Manacles I Hear.

Then The Parson Might Preach, & Drink, & Sing, And We'd Be As Happy As Birds In The Spring; And Modest Dame Lurch, Who Is Always At Church, Would Not Have Bandy Children, Nor Fasting, Nor Birch.

To Mercy, Pity, Peace And Love All Pray In Their Distress, And To These Virtues Of Delight Return Their Thankfulness.

Innocence Dwells With Wisdom, But Never With Ignorance.

Little Fly, Thy Summer's Play My Thoughtless Hand Has Brushed Away. Am Not I A Fly Like Thee? Or Art Not Thou A Man Like Me? For I Dance And Drink And Sing, Till Some Blind Hand Shall Brush My Wing!

The Tigers Of Wrath Are Wiser Than The Horses Of Instruction.

Mutual Forgiveness Of Each Vice. Such Are The Gates Of Paradise.

In The Universe, There Are Things That Are Known, And Things That Are Unknown, And In Between, There Are Doors.

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.

When Sir Joshua Reynolds Died All Nature Was Degraded

Desperate Remorse Swallows The Present In A Quenchless Rage.

Every Night And Every Morn Some To Misery Are Born. Every Morn And Every Night Some Are Born To Sweet Delight, Some Are Born To Endless Night.

To My Eye Rubens' Colouring Is Most Contemptible. His Shadows Are A Filthy Brown Somewhat The Colour Of Excrement.

Those Who Restrain Desire, Do So Because Theirs Is Weak Enough To Be Restrained.

My Brother Starv'd Between Two Walls,his Children's Cry My Soul Appalls

Oh! Why Was I Born With A Different Face? Why Was I Not Born Like The Rest Of My Race? When I Look,each One Starts! When I Speak, I Offend; Then Im Silent & Passive & Lose Every Friend. Then My Verse I Dishonour, My Pictures Despise, My Person Degrade & My Temper Chastise; And The Pen Is My Terror, The Pencil My Shame; All My Talents I Bury, And Dead Is My Fame. Im Either Too Low Or Too Highly Prized; When Elate I M Envy'd, When Meek Im Despis'd

Different Faces

He Who Does Not Imagine In Stronger And Better Lineaments, And In Stronger And Better Light Than His Perishing And Mortal Eye Can See, Does Not Imagine At All.

Prisons Are Built With Stones Of Law. Brothels With The Bricks Of Religion.

The Man Who Never In His Mind & Thoughts Travel'd To Heaven Is No Artist.

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.

For I Dance And Drink And Sing, Till Some Blind Hand Shall Brush My Wing. If Thought Is Life And Strength And Breath And The Want Of Thought Is Death Then Am I A Happy Fly If I Live Or If I Die

As A Man Is, So He Sees.

Thought Provoking

Naught Can Deform The Human Race Like To The Armor's Iron Brace.

Joy And Woe Are Woven Fine, A Clothing For The Soul Divine. Under Every Grief And Pine Runs A Joy With Silken Twine.

What Is Now Proved Was Once Only Imagined.

The Little Ones Leaped, And Shouted, And Laugh'd And All The Hills Echoed

I Must Create A System, Or Be Enslav'd By Another Man's.

A Dog Starved At His Master's Gate Predicts The Ruin Of The State.

Robin Redbreast

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.

The Nakedness Of Woman Is The Work Of God.

It Is The Greatest Of Crimes To Depress True Art And Science.

Celebrate Your Existence!

Rome & Greece Swept Art Into Their Maw & Destroy'd It; A Warlike State Never Can Produce Art. It Will Rob & Plunder & Accumulate Into One Place, & Translate & Copy & Buy & Sell & Criticize, But Not Make.

Do What You Will This Life's A Fiction, And Is Made Up Of Contradiction.

Always Be Ready To Speak Your Mind, And A Base Man Will Avoid You.

Speak Your Mind

The Weak In Courage Is Strong In Cunning.

To Create A Little Flower Is The Labour Of Ages.

The Cut Worm Forgives The Plow.

For Everything Exists And Not One Sigh Nor Smile Nor Tear, One Hair Nor Particle Of Dust, Not One Can Pass Away.

Where Mercy, Love, And Pity Dwell, There God Is Dwelling Too.

Some Are Born To Sweet Delight, Some Are Born To Endless Night.

God Is The Poetic Genius In Each Of Us.

The Eye Altering, Alters All.

One Law For The Lion And Ox Is Oppression.

Degrade First The Arts If You'd Mankind Degrade. Hire Idiots To Paint With Cold Light & Hot Shade: Give High Price For The Worst, Leave The Best In Disgrace, And With Labours Of Ignorance Fill Every Place.

Silent As Despairing Love, And Strong As Jealousy.

Like A Fiend In A Cloud, With Howling Woe, After Night I Do Crowd, And With Night Will Go; I Turn My Back To The East, From Whence Comforts Have Increased; For Light Doth Seize My Brain With Frantic Pain.

How Can A Bird That Is Born For Joy Sit In A Cage And Sing?

The Atoms Of Democritus And Newton's Particles Of Light Are Sands Upon The Red Sea Shore, Where Israel's Tents Do Shine So Bright.

He Who Has Suffered You To Impose On Him Knows You.

I Give You The End Of A Golden String, Only Wind It Into A Ball, It Will Lead You In At Heaven's Gate Built In Jerusalem's Wall.

You Become What You Behold.

Does A Firm Persuasion That A Thing Is So, Make It So?" He Replied, "all Poets Believe It Does. And In Ages Of Imagination, This Firm Persuasion Removes Mountains; But Many Are Not Capable Of Firm Persuasion Of Anything.

He Who Binds To Himself A Joy Does The Winged Life Destroy; But He Who Kisses The Joy As It Flies Lives In Eternity's Sun Rise.

Those Who Enter The Gates Of Heaven Are Not Beings Who Have No Passions Or Who Have Curbed The Passions, But Those Who Have Cultivated An Understanding Of Them.

In Seed Time Learn, In Harvest Teach, In Winter Enjoy.

Thinking Of You

The Old And New Testaments Are The Great Code Of Art.

Every Thing Possible To Be Believ'd Is An Image Of Truth.

Works Of Art Can Only Be Produc'd In Perfection Where The Man Is Either In Affluence Or Is Above The Care Of It.

I Am More Famed In Heaven For My Works Than I Could Well Conceive. In My Brain Are Studies & Chambers Filled With Books & Pictures Of Old, Which I Wrote And Painted In Ages Of Eternity Before My Mortal Life; And Whose Works Are The Delight & Study Of Archangels. Why, Then, Should I Be Anxious About The Riches Or Fame Of Mortality?

Without Contraries Is No Progression. Attraction And Repulsion, Reason And Energy, Love And Hate, Are Necessary To Human Existence.

Invention Depends Altogether Upon Execution Or Organization; As That Is Right Or Wrong So Is The Invention Perfect Or Imperfect.

When A Sinister Person Means To Be Your Enemy, They Always Start By Trying To Become Your Friend.

Every Harlot Was A Virgin Once.

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.

A Skylark Wounded In The Wing, / A Cherubim Does Cease To Sing.

Life Delights In Life.

Drive Your Cart And Plow Over The Bones Of The Dead.

He Who Sees The Infinite In All Things Sees God.

I Heard An Angel Singing; When The Day Was Springing, Mercy, Pity, Peace; Is The World's Release.

Children Of The Future Age Reading This Indignant Page Know That In A Former Time Love, Sweet Love, Was Thought A Crime

To See A World In A Grain Of Sand And A Heaven In A Wild Flower, Hold Infinity In The Palm Of Your Hand, And Eternity In An Hour.

In Your Own Bosom You Bear Your Heaven And Earth, And All You Behold, Though It Appears Without, It Is Within, In Your Imagination, Of Which This World Of Mortality Is But A Shadow.

I Cry, Love! Love! Love! Happy Happy Love! Free As The Mountain Wind!

Forgive What You Do Not Approve & Love Me For This Energetic Exertion Of My Talent

[l]et Light Rise From The Chambers Of The East, And Bring The Honey'd Dew That Cometh On Waking Day. O Radiant Morning.

As The Caterpillar Chooses The Fairest Leaves To Lay Her Eggs On, So The Priest Lays His Curse On The Fairest Joys.

Sooner Strangle An Infant In Its Cradle Than Nurse Unacted Desires.

The World Of Imagination Is The World Of Eternity. It Is The Divine Bosom Into Which We Shall All Go After Death Of The Vegetative Body.

The Pride Of The Peacock Is The Glory Of God.

This Life's Dim Windows Of The Soul Distorts The Heavens From Pole To Pole And Leads You To Believe A Lie When You See With, Not Through, The Eye.

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.

To Generalize Is To Be An Idiot. To Particularize Is The Alone Distinction Of Merit. General Knowledge Are Those Knowledge That Idiots Possess.

God Forbid That Truth Should Be Confined To Mathematical Demonstration!

Every Tear From Every Eyebecomes A Babe In Eternity.

Grown Old In Love From Seven Till Seven Times Seven,i Oft Have Wished For Hell For Ease From Heaven.

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.

And Is He Honest Who Resists His Genius Or Conscience Only For The Sake Of Present Ease Or Gratification

To Generalize Is To Be An Idiot.

On No Other Ground Can I Sow My Seed Without Tearing Up Some Stinking Weed.

More! More! Is The Cry Of A Mistaken Soul.

Abstinence Sows Sand All Over The Ruddy Limbs And Flaming Hair, But Desire Gratified Plants Fruits Of Life And Beauty There.

Such, Such Were The Joys When We All, Girls And Boys, In Our Youth Time Were Seen On The Echoing Green.

What Is Grand Is Necessarily Obscure To Weak Men. That Which Can Be Made Explicit To The Idiot Is Not Worth My Care.

Energy Is Eternal Delight.

He Who Desires, But Acts Not, Breeds Pestilence.

For Mercy Has A Human Heart Pity, A Human Face: And Love, The Human Form Divine, And Peace, The Human Dress.

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 Fruit And Flowers.

Active Evil Is Better Than Passive Good.

Thought Provoking

Every Mortal Loss Is An Immortal Gain.

For Everything That Lives Is Holy, Life Delights In Life.

Little Lamb, Who Made Thee? Dost Thou Know Who Made Thee?

Pay Attention To Minute Particulars. Take Care Of The Little Ones. Generalization And Abstraction Are The Plea Of The Hypocrite, Scoundrel, And Knave.

The Man Who Pretends To Be A Modest Enquirer Into The Truth Of A Self-evident Thing Is A Knave.

Nature Has No Outline. Imagination Has.

The Pride Of The Peacock Is The Glory Of God. The Lust Of The Goat Is The Bounty Of God. The Wrath Of The Lion Is The Wisdom Of God. The Nakedness Of Woman Is The Work Of God.

Holy, Holy, Holy Is The Lord God Almighty !

When Thou Seest An Eagle, Thou Seest A Portion Of Genius; Lift Up Thy Head!

The Roaring Of Lions, The Howling Of Wolves, The Raging Of The Stormy Sea, And The Destructive Sword, Are Portions Of Eternity, Too Great For The Eye Of Man.

He Who Has Few Things To Desire Cannot Have Many To Fear.

Some Will Say, Is Not God Alone The Prolific? I Answer, God Only Acts & Is, In Existing Beings Or Men.

Better To Shun The Bait Than Struggle In The Snare.

Where Others See But The Dawn Coming Over The Hill, I See The Soul Of God Shouting For Joy.

Listen To The Fool's Reproach! It Is A Kingly Title!

The Strongest Poison Ever Known Came From Caesar's Laurel Crown.

I Have Conversed With The Spiritual Sun. I Saw Him On Primrose Hill

Think In The Morning. Act In The Noon. Eat In The Evening. Sleep In The Night.

Angels Are Happier Than Men And Devils, Because They Are Not Always Prying After Good And Evil In One Another, And Eating The Tree Of Knowledge For Satan's Gratification.

Nature In Darkness Groans And Men Are Bound To Sullen Contemplation In The Night: Restless They Turn On Beds Of Sorrow; In Their Inmost Brain Feeling The Crushing Wheels, They Rise, They Write The Bitter Words Of Stern Philosophy And Knead The Bread Of Knowledge With Tears And Groans.

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.

Inspirational Love

When The Stars Threw Down Their Spears, And Watered Heaven With Their Tears, Did He Smile His Work To See? Did He Who Made The Lamb Make Thee?

He Who Would Do Good To Another Must Do It In Minute Particulars.

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