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
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.
And because I am happy and dance and sing,They think they have done me no injury.
The merchants are rich enough;Can they not help themselves?
And now the time returns again: / Our souls exult, and London's towers / Receive the Lamb of God to dwell / In England's green and pleasant bowers.
All wholesome food is caught without a net or a trap.
For he hears the lambs innocent call.And he hears the ewes tender reply.He is watchful while they are in peace.For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.
Forgiveness of enemies can only come upon their repentance.
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.
Every Night and every MornSome to Misery are born.Every Morn and every NightSome are born to Sweet Delight,Some are born to Endless Night.
A musician, an artist, an architect: the man or woman who is not one of these is not a Christian.
Father, O father! what do we here In this land of unbelief and fear?
O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors: The north is thine; there hast thou build thy dark, Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs, Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.
The hand of Vengeance found the Bed To which the Purple Tyrant fled The iron hand crush'd the tyrant's head And became Tyrant in his stead.
Since the French Revolution Englishmen are all intermeasurable one by another, certainly a happy state of agreement to which I forone do not agree.