The Letters of William Blake: Together with a LifeMethuen, 1906 - 237 Seiten |
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admired affectionate angels Archibald Stirling artist Ballads beautiful brother called colour copy cottage Cowper Dante dear Sir DEAR SIR,-I death designs desire Divine doubt drawing earth Eartham East Dereham edition engraved by Blake engraving eternal executed eyes fear Felpham finished Fuseli genius GEORGE CUMBERLAND Gilchrist 1880 give Graham Robertson guineas Hampstead hand happy Hayley's hear Heaven hope imagination Jerusalem JOHN FLAXMAN JOHN LINNell kind labour Last Judgment letter live London Michael Angelo Milton Miss Poole morning never Ozias Humphrey painter painting Paradise Lost Phillips plates pleasure poem portrait possession Pray present printed published Raphael remain Romney Romney's seen sent Shipwreck sincerely sketch Songs soon SOUTH MOLTON SOUTH MOLTON STREET spirit Tatham tell thank thee things THOMAS BUTTS thought tion vision water-colour WILLIAM BLAKE William Cowper WILLIAM HAYLEY wish write
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Seite 36 - And what shoulder and what art Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And, when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand and what dread feet? What the hammer? What the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? What dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
Seite 35 - 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.
Seite 37 - THE LAMB LITTLE Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Gave thee life, and bid thee feed, By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice? Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Little Lamb, I'll tell thee, Little Lamb, I'll tell thee: He is called by thy name, For He calls Himself a Lamb.
Seite 16 - In yon bright track that fires the western skies They melt, they vanish from my eyes. But oh ! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll? Visions of glory, spare my aching sight, Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
Seite 53 - He who would do good to another must do it in Minute Particulars. General Good is the plea of the Scoundrel, hypocrite, and flatterer...
Seite 37 - I'll tell thee: He is called by thy name, For He calls Himself a Lamb. He is meek and He is mild; He became a little child. I a child and thou a lamb, We are called by His name. Little Lamb, God bless thee.
Seite 31 - God's eternal store, to circumscribe This universe, and all created things : One foot he center'd, and the other turn'd Round through the vast profundity obscure ; And said, Thus far extend, thus far thy bounds, This be thy just circumference, O World...
Seite 56 - Some Scarce see Nature at all But to the Eyes of the Man of Imagination Nature is Imagination itself. As a man is So he Sees. As the Eye is formed such are its Powers You certainly Mistake when you say that the Visions of Fancy are not to be found in This World. To Me This World is all One continued Vision of Fancy or Imagination & I feel Flatterd when I am told So.
Seite 4 - ... with mine And our roots together join. Joys upon our branches sit Chirping loud and singing sweet ; Like gentle streams beneath our feet Innocence and virtue meet. Thou the golden fruit dost bear, I am clad in flowers fair ; Thy sweet boughs perfume the air, And the turtle buildeth there. There she sits and feeds her young, Sweet I hear her mournful song ; And thy lovely leaves among There is love ; I hear his tongue.
Seite 36 - ... the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears, And water'd heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee? Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?