Others

If It Is True What the Prophets Write
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.

Holy Thursday
'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,
Came children walking two and two, in read, and blue, and green:
Grey-headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow,
Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames waters flow.
Oh what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town!
Seated in companies they sit, with radiance all their own.
The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs,
Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands.
Now like a mighty wild they raise to heaven the voice of song,
Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among:
Beneath them sit the aged man, wise guardians of the poor.
Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.

Grey Monk, The
"I die, I 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 lov'd.
My Brother starv'd between two walls,
His Children's cry my soul appalls;
I mock'd at the rack and griding chain,
My bent body mocks their torturing pain.
Thy father drew his sword in the North,
With his thousands strong he marched 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."

Hear the Voice
HEAR 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 lapsed 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.'

Four Zoas, The (excerpt)
. "What is the price of Experience? do men buy it for a song?
. Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the price
. Of all that a man hath, his house, his wife, his children.
. Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buy,
. And in the wither'd field where the farmer plows for bread in vain.
. It is an easy thing to triumph in the summer's sun
. And in the vintage and to sing on the waggon loaded with corn.
. It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted,
. To speak the laws of prudence to the houseless wanderer,
. To listen to the hungry raven's cry in wintry season
. When the red blood is fill'd with wine and with the marrow of lambs.
. It is an easy thing to laugh at wrathful elements,
. To hear the dog howl at the wintry door, the ox in the slaughter house moan;
. To see a god on every wind and a blessing on every blast;
. To hear sounds of love in the thunder storm that destroys our enemies' house;
. To rejoice in the blight that covers his field, and the sickness that cuts off his
children,
. While our olive and vine sing and laugh round our door, and our children bring
fruits and flowers.
. Then the groan and the dolor are quite forgotten, and the slave grinding at the
mill,
. And the captive in chains, and the poor in the prison, and the soldier in the field
. When the shatter'd bone hath laid him groaning among the happier dead.
. It is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of prosperity:
. Thus could I sing and thus rejoice: but it is not so with me."
. "Compel the poor to live upon a crust of bread, by soft mild arts.
. Smile when they frown, frown when they smile; and when a man looks pale
. With labour and abstinence, say he looks healthy and happy;
. And when his children sicken, let them die; there are enough
. Born, even too many, and our earth will be overrun
. Without these arts. If you would make the poor live with temper,
. With pomp give every crust of bread you give; with gracious cunning
. Magnify small gifts; reduce the man to want a gift, and then give with pomp.
. Say he smiles if you hear him sigh. If pale, say he is ruddy.
. Preach temperance: say he is overgorg'd and drowns his wit
. In strong drink, though you know that bread and water are all
. He can afford. Flatter his wife, pity his children, till we can
. Reduce all to our will, as spaniels are taught with art."
. The sun has left his blackness and has found a fresher morning,
. And the mild moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night,
. And Man walks forth from midst of the fires: the evil is all consum'd.
. His eyes behold the Angelic spheres arising night and day;
. The stars consum'd like a lamp blown out, and in their stead, behold
. The expanding eyes of Man behold the depths of wondrous worlds!
. One Earth, one sea beneath; nor erring globes wander, but stars
. Of fire rise up nightly from the ocean; and one sun


. Each morning, like a new born man, issues with songs and joy
. Calling the Plowman to his labour and the Shepherd to his rest.
. He walks upon the Eternal Mountains, raising his heavenly voice,
. Conversing with the animal forms of wisdom night and day,
. That, risen from the sea of fire, renew'd walk o'er the Earth;
. For Tharmas brought his flocks upon the hills, and in the vales
. Around the Eternal Man's bright tent, the little children play
. Among the woolly flocks. The hammer of Urthona sounds
. In the deep caves beneath; his limbs renew'd, his Lions roar
. Around the Furnaces and in evening sport upon the plains.
. They raise their faces from the earth, conversing with the Man:
. "How is it we have walk'd through fires and yet are not consum'd?
. How is it that all things are chang'd, even as in ancient times?"

From Milton: And did those feet
And 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 & pleasant Land.

Fair Elanor
The bell struck one, and shook the silent tower;
The graves give up their dead: fair Elenor
Walk'd by the castle gate, and lookèd in.
A hollow groan ran thro' the dreary vaults.
She shriek'd aloud, and sunk upon the steps,
On the cold stone her pale cheeks. 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
Wrapp'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 cried; and thrust into her arms
A wet napkin, wrapp'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 cried; `ah, cursèd 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 raisèd up her head,
And saw the bloody napkin by her side,
Which in her arms she brought; and now, tenfold
More terrifièd, saw it unfold itself.
Her eyes were fix'd; the bloody cloth unfolds,
Disclosing to her sight the murder'd head
Of her dear lord, all ghastly pale, clotted
With gory blood; it groan'd, and thus it spake:
`O Elenor, I am thy husband's head,
Who, sleeping on the stones of yonder tower,
Was 'reft of life by the accursèd duke!
A hirèd villain turn'd my sleep to death!
`O Elenor, beware the cursèd duke;
O give not him thy hand, now I am dead;
He seeks thy love; who, coward, in the night,
Hirèd a villain to bereave my life.'
She sat with dead cold limbs, stiffen'd to stone;
She took the gory head up in her arms;
She kiss'd the pale lips; she had no tears to shed;
She hugg'd it to her breast, and groan'd her last.

Devine 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.

Crystal Cabinet, The
The Maiden caught me in the wild,
Where I was dancing merrily;
She put me into her Cabinet,
And lock'd me up with a golden key.
This cabinet is form'd of gold
And pearl and crystal shining bright,
And within it opens into a world
And a little lovely moony night.
Another England there I saw
Another London with its Tower,
Another Thames and other hills,
And another pleasant Surrey bower.
Another Maiden like herself,
Translucent, lovely, shining clear,
Threefold each in the other clos'd
O, what a pleasant trembling fear!
O, what a smile! a threefold smile
Fill'd me, that like a flame I burn'd;
I bent to kiss the lovely Maid,
And found a threefold kiss return'd.
I strove to seize the inmost form
With ardor fierce and hands of flame,
But burst the Crystal Cabinet,
And like a weeping Babe became--
A weeping Babe upon the wild,
And weeping Woman pale reclin'd,
And in the outward air again,
I fill'd with woes the passing wind.
.

Broken Love
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, 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.”’

Book of Thel, The
THEL'S MOTTO
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?
I
. The daughters of the Seraphim led round their sunny flocks,
. All but the youngest: she in paleness sought the secret air,
. To fade away like morning beauty from her mortal day:
. Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is heard,
. And thus her gentle lamentation falls like morning dew:
. "O life of this our spring! why fades the lotus of the water,
. Why fade these children of the spring, born but to smile and fall?
. Ah! Thel is like a wat'ry bow, and like a parting cloud;
. Like a reflection in a glass; like shadows in the water;
. Like dreams of infants, like a smile upon an infant's face;
. Like the dove's voice; like transient day; like music in the air.
. Ah! gentle may I lay me down, and gentle rest my head,
. And gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gentle hear the voice
. Of him that walketh in the garden in the evening time."
. The Lily of the valley, breathing in the humble grass,
. Answer'd the lovely maid and said: "I am a wat'ry weed,
. And I am very small and love to dwell in lowly vales;
. So weak, the gilded butterfly scarce perches on my head.
. Yet I am visited from heaven, and he that smiles on all
. Walks in the valley and each morn over me spreads his hand,
. Saying, 'Rejoice, thou humble grass, thou new-born lily-flower,
. Thou gentle maid of silent valleys and of modest brooks;
. For thou shalt be clothed in light, and fed with morning manna,
. Till summer's heat melts thee beside the fountains and the springs
. To flourish in eternal vales.' Then why should Thel complain?
. Why should the mistress of the vales of Har utter a sigh?"
. She ceas'd and smil'd in tears, then sat down in her silver shrine.
. Thel answer'd: "O thou little virgin of the peaceful valley,
. Giving to those that cannot crave, the voiceless, the o'ertired;
. Thy breath doth nourish the innocent lamb, he smells thy milky garments,
. He crops thy flowers while thou sittest smiling in his face,
. Wiping his mild and meekin mouth from all contagious taints.
. Thy wine doth purify the golden honey; thy perfume,
. Which thou dost scatter on every little blade of grass that springs,
. Revives the milked cow, and tames the fire-breathing steed.
. But Thel is like a faint cloud kindled at the rising sun:
. I vanish from my pearly throne, and who shall find my place?"
. "Queen of the vales," the Lily answer'd, "ask the tender cloud,
. And it shall tell thee why it glitters in the morning sky,


. And why it scatters its bright beauty thro' the humid air.
. Descend, O little Cloud, and hover before the eyes of Thel."
. The Cloud descended, and the Lily bow'd her modest head
. And went to mind her numerous charge among the verdant grass.
II
. "O little Cloud," the virgin said, "I charge thee tell to me
. Why thou complainest not when in one hour thou fade away:
. Then we shall seek thee, but not find. Ah! Thel is like to thee:
. I pass away: yet I complain, and no one hears my voice."
. The Cloud then shew'd his golden head and his bright form emerg'd,
. Hovering and glittering on the air before the face of Thel.
. "O virgin, know'st thou not our steeds drink of the golden springs
. Where Luvah doth renew his horses? Look'st thou on my youth,
. And fearest thou, because I vanish and am seen no more,
. Nothing remains? O maid, I tell thee, when I pass away
. It is to tenfold life, to love, to peace and raptures holy:
. Unseen descending, weigh my light wings upon balmy flowers,
. And court the fair-eyed dew to take me to her shining tent:
. The weeping virgin trembling kneels before the risen sun,
. Till we arise link'd in a golden band and never part,
. But walk united, bearing food to all our tender flowers."
. "Dost thou, O little Cloud? I fear that I am not like thee,
. For I walk thro' the vales of Har, and smell the sweetest flowers,
. But I feed not the little flowers; I hear the warbling birds,
. But I feed not the warbling birds; they fly and seek their food:
. But Thel delights in these no more, because I fade away;
. And all shall say, 'Without a use this shining woman liv'd,
. Or did she only live to be at death the food of worms?' "
. The Cloud reclin'd upon his airy throne and answer'd thus:
. "Then if thou art the food of worms, O virgin of the skies,
. How great thy use, how great thy blessing! Every thing that lives
. Lives not alone nor for itself. Fear not, and I will call
. The weak worm from its lowly bed, and thou shalt hear its voice,
. Come forth, worm of the silent valley, to thy pensive queen."
. The helpless worm arose, and sat upon the Lily's leaf,
. And the bright Cloud sail'd on, to find his partner in the vale.
III
. Then Thel astonish'd view'd the Worm upon its dewy bed.
. "Art thou a Worm? Image of weakness, art thou but a Worm?
. I see thee like an infant wrapped in the Lily's leaf


. Ah! weep not, little voice, thou canst not speak, but thou canst weep.
. Is this a Worm? I see thee lay helpless and naked, weeping,
. And none to answer, none to cherish thee with mother's smiles."
. The Clod of Clay heard the Worm's voice and rais'd her pitying head:
. She bow'd over the weeping infant, and her life exhal'd
. In milky fondness: then on Thel she fix'd her humble eyes.
. "O beauty of the vales of Har! we live not for ourselves.
. Thou seest me the meanest thing, and so I am indeed.
. My bosom of itself is cold, and of itself is dark;
. But he, that loves the lowly, pours his oil upon my head,
. And kisses me, and binds his nuptial bands around my breast,
. And says: 'Thou mother of my children, I have loved thee
. And I have given thee a crown that none can take away.'
. But how this is, sweet maid, I know not, and I cannot know;
. I ponder, and I cannot ponder; yet I live and love."
. The daughter of beauty wip'd her pitying tears with her white veil,
. And said: "Alas! I knew not this, and therefore did I weep.
. That God would love a Worm I knew, and punish the evil foot
. That wilful bruis'd its helpless form; but that he cherish'd it
. With milk and oil I never knew, and therefore did I weep;
. And I complain'd in the mild air, because I fade away,
. And lay me down in thy cold bed, and leave my shining lot."
. "Queen of the vales," the matron Clay answer'd, "I heard thy sighs,
. And all thy moans flew o'er my roof, but I have call'd them down.
. Wilt thou, O Queen, enter my house? 'Tis given thee to enter
. And to return: fear nothing, enter with thy virgin feet."
IV
. The eternal gates' terrific porter lifted the northern bar:
. Thel enter'd in and saw the secrets of the land unknown.
. She saw the couches of the dead, and where the fibrous roots
. Of every heart on earth infixes deep its restless twists:
. A land of sorrows and of tears where never smile was seen.
. She wander'd in the land of clouds thro' valleys dark, list'ning
. Dolours and lamentations; waiting oft beside a dewy grave
. She stood in silence, list'ning to the voices of the ground,
. Till to her own grave plot she came, and there she sat down,
. And heard this voice of sorrow breathed from the hollow pit.
. "Why cannot the Ear be closed to its own destruction?
. Or the glist'ning Eye to the poison of a smile?
. Why are Eyelids stor'd with arrows ready drawn,
. Where a thousand fighting men in ambush lie?
. Or an Eye of gifts and graces show'ring fruits and coined gold?
. Why a Tongue impress'd with honey from every wind?
. Why an Ear, a whirlpool fierce to draw creations in?
. Why a Nostril wide inhaling terror, trembling, and affright?


. Why a tender curb upon the youthful burning boy?
. Why a little curtain of flesh on the bed of our desire?"
. The Virgin started from her seat, and with a shriek
. Fled back unhinder'd till she came into the vales of Har.

Book of Thel, The
THEL'S MOTTO
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?
I
. The daughters of the Seraphim led round their sunny flocks,
. All but the youngest: she in paleness sought the secret air,
. To fade away like morning beauty from her mortal day:
. Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is heard,
. And thus her gentle lamentation falls like morning dew:
. "O life of this our spring! why fades the lotus of the water,
. Why fade these children of the spring, born but to smile and fall?
. Ah! Thel is like a wat'ry bow, and like a parting cloud;
. Like a reflection in a glass; like shadows in the water;
. Like dreams of infants, like a smile upon an infant's face;
. Like the dove's voice; like transient day; like music in the air.
. Ah! gentle may I lay me down, and gentle rest my head,
. And gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gentle hear the voice
. Of him that walketh in the garden in the evening time."
. The Lily of the valley, breathing in the humble grass,
. Answer'd the lovely maid and said: "I am a wat'ry weed,
. And I am very small and love to dwell in lowly vales;
. So weak, the gilded butterfly scarce perches on my head.
. Yet I am visited from heaven, and he that smiles on all
. Walks in the valley and each morn over me spreads his hand,
. Saying, 'Rejoice, thou humble grass, thou new-born lily-flower,
. Thou gentle maid of silent valleys and of modest brooks;
. For thou shalt be clothed in light, and fed with morning manna,
. Till summer's heat melts thee beside the fountains and the springs
. To flourish in eternal vales.' Then why should Thel complain?
. Why should the mistress of the vales of Har utter a sigh?"
. She ceas'd and smil'd in tears, then sat down in her silver shrine.
. Thel answer'd: "O thou little virgin of the peaceful valley,
. Giving to those that cannot crave, the voiceless, the o'ertired;
. Thy breath doth nourish the innocent lamb, he smells thy milky garments,
. He crops thy flowers while thou sittest smiling in his face,
. Wiping his mild and meekin mouth from all contagious taints.
. Thy wine doth purify the golden honey; thy perfume,
. Which thou dost scatter on every little blade of grass that springs,
. Revives the milked cow, and tames the fire-breathing steed.
. But Thel is like a faint cloud kindled at the rising sun:
. I vanish from my pearly throne, and who shall find my place?"
. "Queen of the vales," the Lily answer'd, "ask the tender cloud,
. And it shall tell thee why it glitters in the morning sky,


. And why it scatters its bright beauty thro' the humid air.
. Descend, O little Cloud, and hover before the eyes of Thel."
. The Cloud descended, and the Lily bow'd her modest head
. And went to mind her numerous charge among the verdant grass.
II
. "O little Cloud," the virgin said, "I charge thee tell to me
. Why thou complainest not when in one hour thou fade away:
. Then we shall seek thee, but not find. Ah! Thel is like to thee:
. I pass away: yet I complain, and no one hears my voice."
. The Cloud then shew'd his golden head and his bright form emerg'd,
. Hovering and glittering on the air before the face of Thel.
. "O virgin, know'st thou not our steeds drink of the golden springs
. Where Luvah doth renew his horses? Look'st thou on my youth,
. And fearest thou, because I vanish and am seen no more,
. Nothing remains? O maid, I tell thee, when I pass away
. It is to tenfold life, to love, to peace and raptures holy:
. Unseen descending, weigh my light wings upon balmy flowers,
. And court the fair-eyed dew to take me to her shining tent:
. The weeping virgin trembling kneels before the risen sun,
. Till we arise link'd in a golden band and never part,
. But walk united, bearing food to all our tender flowers."
. "Dost thou, O little Cloud? I fear that I am not like thee,
. For I walk thro' the vales of Har, and smell the sweetest flowers,
. But I feed not the little flowers; I hear the warbling birds,
. But I feed not the warbling birds; they fly and seek their food:
. But Thel delights in these no more, because I fade away;
. And all shall say, 'Without a use this shining woman liv'd,
. Or did she only live to be at death the food of worms?' "
. The Cloud reclin'd upon his airy throne and answer'd thus:
. "Then if thou art the food of worms, O virgin of the skies,
. How great thy use, how great thy blessing! Every thing that lives
. Lives not alone nor for itself. Fear not, and I will call
. The weak worm from its lowly bed, and thou shalt hear its voice,
. Come forth, worm of the silent valley, to thy pensive queen."
. The helpless worm arose, and sat upon the Lily's leaf,
. And the bright Cloud sail'd on, to find his partner in the vale.
III
. Then Thel astonish'd view'd the Worm upon its dewy bed.
. "Art thou a Worm? Image of weakness, art thou but a Worm?
. I see thee like an infant wrapped in the Lily's leaf


. Ah! weep not, little voice, thou canst not speak, but thou canst weep.
. Is this a Worm? I see thee lay helpless and naked, weeping,
. And none to answer, none to cherish thee with mother's smiles."
. The Clod of Clay heard the Worm's voice and rais'd her pitying head:
. She bow'd over the weeping infant, and her life exhal'd
. In milky fondness: then on Thel she fix'd her humble eyes.
. "O beauty of the vales of Har! we live not for ourselves.
. Thou seest me the meanest thing, and so I am indeed.
. My bosom of itself is cold, and of itself is dark;
. But he, that loves the lowly, pours his oil upon my head,
. And kisses me, and binds his nuptial bands around my breast,
. And says: 'Thou mother of my children, I have loved thee
. And I have given thee a crown that none can take away.'
. But how this is, sweet maid, I know not, and I cannot know;
. I ponder, and I cannot ponder; yet I live and love."
. The daughter of beauty wip'd her pitying tears with her white veil,
. And said: "Alas! I knew not this, and therefore did I weep.
. That God would love a Worm I knew, and punish the evil foot
. That wilful bruis'd its helpless form; but that he cherish'd it
. With milk and oil I never knew, and therefore did I weep;
. And I complain'd in the mild air, because I fade away,
. And lay me down in thy cold bed, and leave my shining lot."
. "Queen of the vales," the matron Clay answer'd, "I heard thy sighs,
. And all thy moans flew o'er my roof, but I have call'd them down.
. Wilt thou, O Queen, enter my house? 'Tis given thee to enter
. And to return: fear nothing, enter with thy virgin feet."
IV
. The eternal gates' terrific porter lifted the northern bar:
. Thel enter'd in and saw the secrets of the land unknown.
. She saw the couches of the dead, and where the fibrous roots
. Of every heart on earth infixes deep its restless twists:
. A land of sorrows and of tears where never smile was seen.
. She wander'd in the land of clouds thro' valleys dark, list'ning
. Dolours and lamentations; waiting oft beside a dewy grave
. She stood in silence, list'ning to the voices of the ground,
. Till to her own grave plot she came, and there she sat down,
. And heard this voice of sorrow breathed from the hollow pit.
. "Why cannot the Ear be closed to its own destruction?
. Or the glist'ning Eye to the poison of a smile?
. Why are Eyelids stor'd with arrows ready drawn,
. Where a thousand fighting men in ambush lie?
. Or an Eye of gifts and graces show'ring fruits and coined gold?
. Why a Tongue impress'd with honey from every wind?
. Why an Ear, a whirlpool fierce to draw creations in?
. Why a Nostril wide inhaling terror, trembling, and affright?


. Why a tender curb upon the youthful burning boy?
. Why a little curtain of flesh on the bed of our desire?"
. The Virgin started from her seat, and with a shriek
. Fled back unhinder'd till she came into the vales of Har.

An Imitation of Spenser
Golden Apollo, that thro' heaven wide
Scatter'st the rays of light, and truth's beams,
In lucent words my darkling verses dight,
And wash my earthy mind in thy clear streams,
That wisdom may descend in fairy dreams,
All while the jocund hours in thy train
Scatter their fancies at thy poet's feet;
And when thou yields to night thy wide domain,
Let rays of truth enlight his sleeping brain.
For brutish Pan in vain might thee assay
With tinkling sounds to dash thy nervous verse,
Sound without sense; yet in his rude affray,
(For ignorance is Folly's leasing nurse
And love of Folly needs none other's curse)
Midas the praise hath gain'd of lengthen'd ears,
For which himself might deem him ne'er the worse
To sit in council with his modern peers,
And judge of tinkling rimes and elegances terse.
And thou, Mercurius, that with wingèd brow
Dost mount aloft into the yielding sky,
And thro' Heav'n's halls thy airy flight dost throw,
Entering with holy feet to where on high
Jove weighs the counsel of futurity;
Then, laden with eternal fate, dost go
Down, like a falling star, from autumn sky,
And o'er the surface of the silent deep dost fly:
If thou arrivest at the sandy shore
Where nought but envious hissing adders dwell,
Thy golden rod, thrown on t he dusty floor,
Can charm to harmony with potent spell.
Such is sweet Eloquence, that does dispel
Envy and Hate that thirst for human gore;
And cause in sweet society to dwell
Vile savage minds that lurk in lonely cell
O Mercury, assist my lab'ring sense
That round the circle of the world would fly,
As the wing'd eagle scorns the tow'ry fence
Of Alpine hills round his high aëry,
And searches thro' the corners of the sky,
Sports in the clouds to hear the thunder's sound,
And see the wingèd lightnings as they fly;
Then, bosom'd in an amber cloud, around
Plumes his wide wings, and seeks Sol's palace high.
And thou, O warrior maid invincible,
Arm'd with the terrors of Almighty Jove,
Pallas, Minerva, maiden terrible,
Lov'st thou to walk the peaceful solemn grove,
In solemn gloom of branches interwove?


Or bear'st thy AEgis o'er the burning field,
Where, like the sea, the waves of battle move?
Or have thy soft piteous eyes beheld
The weary wanderer thro' the desert rove?
Or does th' afflicted man thy heav'nly bosom move?

An Imitation of Spenser
Golden Apollo, that thro' heaven wide
Scatter'st the rays of light, and truth's beams,
In lucent words my darkling verses dight,
And wash my earthy mind in thy clear streams,
That wisdom may descend in fairy dreams,
All while the jocund hours in thy train
Scatter their fancies at thy poet's feet;
And when thou yields to night thy wide domain,
Let rays of truth enlight his sleeping brain.
For brutish Pan in vain might thee assay
With tinkling sounds to dash thy nervous verse,
Sound without sense; yet in his rude affray,
(For ignorance is Folly's leasing nurse
And love of Folly needs none other's curse)
Midas the praise hath gain'd of lengthen'd ears,
For which himself might deem him ne'er the worse
To sit in council with his modern peers,
And judge of tinkling rimes and elegances terse.
And thou, Mercurius, that with wingèd brow
Dost mount aloft into the yielding sky,
And thro' Heav'n's halls thy airy flight dost throw,
Entering with holy feet to where on high
Jove weighs the counsel of futurity;
Then, laden with eternal fate, dost go
Down, like a falling star, from autumn sky,
And o'er the surface of the silent deep dost fly:
If thou arrivest at the sandy shore
Where nought but envious hissing adders dwell,
Thy golden rod, thrown on t he dusty floor,
Can charm to harmony with potent spell.
Such is sweet Eloquence, that does dispel
Envy and Hate that thirst for human gore;
And cause in sweet society to dwell
Vile savage minds that lurk in lonely cell
O Mercury, assist my lab'ring sense
That round the circle of the world would fly,
As the wing'd eagle scorns the tow'ry fence
Of Alpine hills round his high aëry,
And searches thro' the corners of the sky,
Sports in the clouds to hear the thunder's sound,
And see the wingèd lightnings as they fly;
Then, bosom'd in an amber cloud, around
Plumes his wide wings, and seeks Sol's palace high.
And thou, O warrior maid invincible,
Arm'd with the terrors of Almighty Jove,
Pallas, Minerva, maiden terrible,
Lov'st thou to walk the peaceful solemn grove,
In solemn gloom of branches interwove?


Or bear'st thy AEgis o'er the burning field,
Where, like the sea, the waves of battle move?
Or have thy soft piteous eyes beheld
The weary wanderer thro' the desert rove?
Or does th' afflicted man thy heav'nly bosom move?

An Imitation of Spenser
Golden Apollo, that thro' heaven wide
Scatter'st the rays of light, and truth's beams,
In lucent words my darkling verses dight,
And wash my earthy mind in thy clear streams,
That wisdom may descend in fairy dreams,
All while the jocund hours in thy train
Scatter their fancies at thy poet's feet;
And when thou yields to night thy wide domain,
Let rays of truth enlight his sleeping brain.
For brutish Pan in vain might thee assay
With tinkling sounds to dash thy nervous verse,
Sound without sense; yet in his rude affray,
(For ignorance is Folly's leasing nurse
And love of Folly needs none other's curse)
Midas the praise hath gain'd of lengthen'd ears,
For which himself might deem him ne'er the worse
To sit in council with his modern peers,
And judge of tinkling rimes and elegances terse.
And thou, Mercurius, that with wingèd brow
Dost mount aloft into the yielding sky,
And thro' Heav'n's halls thy airy flight dost throw,
Entering with holy feet to where on high
Jove weighs the counsel of futurity;
Then, laden with eternal fate, dost go
Down, like a falling star, from autumn sky,
And o'er the surface of the silent deep dost fly:
If thou arrivest at the sandy shore
Where nought but envious hissing adders dwell,
Thy golden rod, thrown on t he dusty floor,
Can charm to harmony with potent spell.
Such is sweet Eloquence, that does dispel
Envy and Hate that thirst for human gore;
And cause in sweet society to dwell
Vile savage minds that lurk in lonely cell
O Mercury, assist my lab'ring sense
That round the circle of the world would fly,
As the wing'd eagle scorns the tow'ry fence
Of Alpine hills round his high aëry,
And searches thro' the corners of the sky,
Sports in the clouds to hear the thunder's sound,
And see the wingèd lightnings as they fly;
Then, bosom'd in an amber cloud, around
Plumes his wide wings, and seeks Sol's palace high.
And thou, O warrior maid invincible,
Arm'd with the terrors of Almighty Jove,
Pallas, Minerva, maiden terrible,
Lov'st thou to walk the peaceful solemn grove,
In solemn gloom of branches interwove?


Or bear'st thy AEgis o'er the burning field,
Where, like the sea, the waves of battle move?
Or have thy soft piteous eyes beheld
The weary wanderer thro' the desert rove?
Or does th' afflicted man thy heav'nly bosom move?

An Imitation of Spenser
Golden Apollo, that thro' heaven wide
Scatter'st the rays of light, and truth's beams,
In lucent words my darkling verses dight,
And wash my earthy mind in thy clear streams,
That wisdom may descend in fairy dreams,
All while the jocund hours in thy train
Scatter their fancies at thy poet's feet;
And when thou yields to night thy wide domain,
Let rays of truth enlight his sleeping brain.
For brutish Pan in vain might thee assay
With tinkling sounds to dash thy nervous verse,
Sound without sense; yet in his rude affray,
(For ignorance is Folly's leasing nurse
And love of Folly needs none other's curse)
Midas the praise hath gain'd of lengthen'd ears,
For which himself might deem him ne'er the worse
To sit in council with his modern peers,
And judge of tinkling rimes and elegances terse.
And thou, Mercurius, that with wingèd brow
Dost mount aloft into the yielding sky,
And thro' Heav'n's halls thy airy flight dost throw,
Entering with holy feet to where on high
Jove weighs the counsel of futurity;
Then, laden with eternal fate, dost go
Down, like a falling star, from autumn sky,
And o'er the surface of the silent deep dost fly:
If thou arrivest at the sandy shore
Where nought but envious hissing adders dwell,
Thy golden rod, thrown on t he dusty floor,
Can charm to harmony with potent spell.
Such is sweet Eloquence, that does dispel
Envy and Hate that thirst for human gore;
And cause in sweet society to dwell
Vile savage minds that lurk in lonely cell
O Mercury, assist my lab'ring sense
That round the circle of the world would fly,
As the wing'd eagle scorns the tow'ry fence
Of Alpine hills round his high aëry,
And searches thro' the corners of the sky,
Sports in the clouds to hear the thunder's sound,
And see the wingèd lightnings as they fly;
Then, bosom'd in an amber cloud, around
Plumes his wide wings, and seeks Sol's palace high.
And thou, O warrior maid invincible,
Arm'd with the terrors of Almighty Jove,
Pallas, Minerva, maiden terrible,
Lov'st thou to walk the peaceful solemn grove,
In solemn gloom of branches interwove?


Or bear'st thy AEgis o'er the burning field,
Where, like the sea, the waves of battle move?
Or have thy soft piteous eyes beheld
The weary wanderer thro' the desert rove?
Or does th' afflicted man thy heav'nly bosom move?

Angel, The
I dreamt a dream! What can it mean?
And that I was a maiden Queen
Guarded by an Angel mild:
Witless woe was ne'er beguiled!
And I wept both night and day,
And he wiped my tears away;
And I wept both day and night,
And hid from him my heart's delight.
So he took his wings, and fled;
Then the morn blushed rosy red.
I dried my tears, and armed my fears
With ten-thousand shields and spears.
Soon my Angel came again;
I was armed, he came in vain;
For the time of youth was fled,
And grey hairs were on my head.

A War Song to Englishmen
Prepare, prepare the iron helm of war,
Bring forth the lots, cast in the spacious orb;
Th' Angel of Fate turns them with mighty hands,
And casts them out upon the darken'd earth!
Prepare, prepare!
Prepare your hearts for Death's cold hand! prepare
Your souls for flight, your bodies for the earth;
Prepare your arms for glorious victory;
Prepare your eyes to meet a holy God!
Prepare, prepare!
Whose fatal scroll is that? Methinks 'tis mine!
Why sinks my heart, why faltereth my tongue?
Had I three lives, I'd die in such a cause,
And rise, with ghosts, over the well-fought field.
Prepare, prepare!
The arrows of Almighty God are drawn!
Angels of Death stand in the louring heavens!
Thousands of souls must seek the realms of light,
And walk together on the clouds of heaven!
Prepare, prepare!
Soldiers, prepare! Our cause is Heaven's cause;
Soldiers, prepare! Be worthy of our cause:
Prepare to meet our fathers in the sky:
Prepare, O troops, that are to fall to-day!
Prepare, prepare!
Alfred shall smile, and make his harp rejoice;
The Norman William, and the learnèd Clerk,
And Lion Heart, and black-brow'd Edward, with
His loyal queen, shall rise, and welcome us!
Prepare, prepare!

A Cradle Song
Sweet dreams form a shade,
O'er my lovely infants head.
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams,
By happy silent moony beams
Sweet sleep with soft down.
Weave thy brows an infant crown.
Sweet sleep Angel mild,
Hover o'er my happy child.
Sweet smiles in the night,
Hover over my delight.
Sweet smiles Mothers smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes,
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.
Sleep sleep happy child,
All creation slept and smil'd.
Sleep sleep, happy sleep.
While o'er thee thy mother weep
Sweet babe in thy face,
Holy image I can trace.
Sweet babe once like thee.
Thy maker lay and wept for me
Wept for me for thee for all,
When he was an infant small.
Thou his image ever see.
Heavenly face that smiles on thee,
Smiles on thee on me on all,
Who became an infant small,
Infant smiles are His own smiles,
Heaven & earth to peace beguiles.

Winter Song
The browns, the olives, and the yellows died,
And were swept up to heaven; where they glowed
Each dawn and set of sun till Christmastide,
And when the land lay pale for them, pale-snowed,
Fell back, and down the snow-drifts flamed and flowed.
From off your face, into the winds of winter,
The sun-brown and the summer-gold are blowing;
But they shall gleam with spiritual glinter,
When paler beauty on your brows falls snowing,
And through those snows my looks shall be soft-going.

Winter Song
The browns, the olives, and the yellows died,
And were swept up to heaven; where they glowed
Each dawn and set of sun till Christmastide,
And when the land lay pale for them, pale-snowed,
Fell back, and down the snow-drifts flamed and flowed.
From off your face, into the winds of winter,
The sun-brown and the summer-gold are blowing;
But they shall gleam with spiritual glinter,
When paler beauty on your brows falls snowing,
And through those snows my looks shall be soft-going.

The Young Soldier
It is not death
Without hereafter
To one in dearth
Of life and its laughter,
Nor the sweet murder
Dealt slow and even
Unto the martyr
Smiling at heaven:
It is the smile
Faint as a (waning) myth,
Faint, and exceeding small
On a boy's murdered mouth.

The Show
My soul looked down from a vague height with Death,
As unremembering how I rose or why,
And saw a sad land, weak with sweats of dearth,
Gray, cratered like the moon with hollow woe,
And fitted with great pocks and scabs of plaques.
Across its beard, that horror of harsh wire,
There moved thin caterpillars, slowly uncoiled.
It seemed they pushed themselves to be as plugs
Of ditches, where they writhed and shrivelled, killed.
By them had slimy paths been trailed and scraped
Round myriad warts that might be little hills.
From gloom's last dregs these long-strung creatures crept,
And vanished out of dawn down hidden holes.
(And smell came up from those foul openings
As out of mouths, or deep wounds deepening.)
On dithering feet upgathered, more and more,
Brown strings towards strings of gray, with bristling spines,
All migrants from green fields, intent on mire.
Those that were gray, of more abundant spawns,
Ramped on the rest and ate them and were eaten.
I saw their bitten backs curve, loop, and straighten,
I watched those agonies curl, lift, and flatten.
Whereat, in terror what that sight might mean,
I reeled and shivered earthward like a feather.
And Death fell with me, like a deepening moan.
And He, picking a manner of worm, which half had hid
Its bruises in the earth, but crawled no further,
Showed me its feet, the feet of many men,
And the fresh-severed head of it, my head.

The Kind Ghosts
She sleeps on soft, last breaths; but no ghost looms
Out of the stillness of her palace wall,
Her wall of boys on boys and dooms on dooms.
She dreams of golden gardens and sweet glooms,
Not marvelling why her roses never fall
Nor what red mouths were torn to make their blooms.
The shades keep down which well might roam her hall.
Quiet their blood lies in her crimson rooms
And she is not afraid of their footfall.
They move not from her tapestries, their pall,
Nor pace her terraces, their hecatombs,
Lest aught she be disturbed, or grieved at all.