Search Results for: by hand

< Return to William Blake Poems A Little Boy Lost ‘Nought loves another as itself, Nor venerates another so, Nor is it possible to thought A greater than itself to know. ‘And, father, how can I love you Or any of my brothers more? I love you like the little bird That picks up crumbs […]

< Return to William Blake Poems Infant Sorrow My mother groaned, my father wept: Into the dangerous world I leapt, Helpless, naked, piping loud, Like a fiend hid in a cloud. Struggling in my father’s hands, Striving against my swaddling bands, Bound and weary, I thought best To sulk upon my mother’s breast. —William Blake […]

< Return to Wallace Stevens Poems Autumn Long lines of coral light And evening star. One shade that leads the night On from afar. And I keep, sorrowing. This sunless zone. Waiting and resting here. In calm above. —Wallace Stevens Did you like Autumn by Wallace Stevens? You might like this poetry book: Buy How […]

< Return to Wallace Stevens Poems Ballade of the Pink Parasol I pray thee, where is the old-time wig. And where is the lofty hat? Where is the maid on the road in her gig. And where is the fire-side cat? Never was sight more fair than that. Outshining, outreaching them all. There in the […]

< Return to Wallace Stevens Poems Banal Sojourn Two wooden tubs of blue hydrangeas stand at the foot of the stone steps . The sky is a blue gum streaked with rose. The trees are black. The grackles crack their throats of bone in the smooth air. Moisture and heat have swollen the garden into […]

< Return to Wallace Stevens Poems Bantams in Pine-Woods Chieftain Iffucan of Azcan in caftan Of tan with henna hackles, halt! Damned universal cock, as if the sun Was blackamoor to bear your blazing tail. Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! I am the personal. Your world is you. I am my world. You ten-foot poet among […]

< Return to Wallace Stevens Poems Bowl For what emperor Was this bowl of Earth designed? Here are more things Than on any bowl of the Sungs, Even the rarest — Vines that take The various obscurities of the moon. Approaching rain And leaves that would be loose upon the wind. Pears on pointed trees. […]

< Return to Wallace Stevens Poems The Bird with the Coppery, Keen Claws Above the forest of the parakeets, A parakeet of parakeets prevails, A pip of life amid a mort of tails. (The rudiments of tropics are around. Aloe of ivory, pear of rusty rind). His lids are white because his eyes are blind. […]

< Return to William Blake Poems The Little Vagabond Dear mother, dear mother, the Church is cold; But the Alehouse is healthy, and pleasant, and warm. Besides, I can tell where I am used well; Such usage in heaven will never do well. But, if at the Church they would give us some ale, And […]

< Return to William Blake Poems The Lily The modest Rose puts forth a thorn, The humble sheep a threat’ning horn: While the Lily white shall in love delight, Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright. —William Blake Original Illustration of The Lily by William Blake Watch The Lily by William Blake […]

< Return to William Blake Poems Ah, Sunflower 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 […]

< Return to William Blake Poems My Pretty Rose-Tree A flower was offered to me, Such a flower as May never bore; But I said, ‘I’ve a pretty rose tree,’ And I passed the sweet flower o’er. Then I went to my pretty rose tree, To tend her by day and by night; But my […]

< Return to William Blake Poems The Angel 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 […]

< Return to William Blake Poems The Fly 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. If thought is life And strength […]

< Return to William Blake Poems Nurse’s Song When the voices of children are heard on the green, And whisperings are in the dale, The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind, My face turns green and pale. Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down, And the dews of night […]