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Children of the future age Reading this indignant page Know that in a former time Love, sweet love, was thought a crime

William Blake

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William Blake
Age: 69 †
Born: 1757
Born: November 28
Died: 1827
Died: August 12
Collector
Engraver
Graphic Artist
Illustrator
Lithographer
Painter
Philosopher
Poet
Printer
Theologian
London
England
W. Blake
Uil'iam Bleik
Blake
Love
Crime
Sweet
Age
Reading
Future
Indignant
Thought
Page
Children
Former
Time
Pages

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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.
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Grown old in love from seven till seven times seven,I oft have wished for Hell for ease from Heaven.
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Each man must create his own system or else he is a slave to another mans
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Christianity is art and not money. Money is its curse.
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Life delights in life.
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When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry weep weep weep weep. So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.
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It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.
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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.
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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.
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Can I see another's woe, and not be in sorrow too? Can I see another's grief, and not seek for kind relief?
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Improvement makes strait roads, but the crooked roads without Improvement, are roads of Genius.
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One law for the lion and ox is oppression.
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I cry, Love! Love! Love! happy happy Love! free as the mountain wind!
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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.
William Blake
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There can be no Good Will. Will is always Evil it is persecution to others or selfishness.
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LOVE'S SECRET Never seek to tell thy love, Love that never told can be For the gentle wind doth move Silently, invisibly. I told my love, I told my love, I told her all my heart, Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears. Ah! she did depart! Soon after she was gone from me, A traveller came by, Silently, invisibly: He took her with a sigh.
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How can a bird that is born for joy Sit in a cage and sing?
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Praises reap not! Joys laugh not! Sorrows weep not!
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The stars are threshed, and the souls are threshed from their husks.
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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.
William Blake