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Poetry fettered fetters the human race.

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
Fetters
Flourishing
Proportion
Destroyed
Poetry
Race
Human
Humans
Fettered

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She who dwells with me whom I have loved with such communion, that no place on earth can ever be solitude to me.
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My mother bore me in the southern wild, And I am black, but O! my soul is white White as an angel is the English child, But I am black as if bereaved of light.
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Art degraded, Imagination denied.
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Death is terrible, tho' borne on angels' wings!
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If a thing loves, it is infinite.
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I have mental joys and mental health, Mental friends and mental wealth, I've a wife that I love and that loves me I've all but riches bodily.
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Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty !
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Excessive sorrow laughs. Excessive joy weeps.
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Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves the feet of angels bright unseen they pour blessing, and joy without ceasing, on each bud and blossom, and each sleeping bosom.
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It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted.
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The cistern contains: The fountain overflows.
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Nothing can be more contemptible than to suppose Public Records to be true.
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For Mercy has a human heart Pity, a human face: And Love, the human form divine, And Peace, the human dress.
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Let the men do their duty & the women will be such wonders the female life lives from the light of the male: see a man's female dependants, you know the man.
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Man was made for joy and woe, and when this we rightly know through the world we safely go. Joy and woe are woven fine, a clothing for the soul to bind.
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What is it men in women do require: The lineaments of gratified desire. What is it women do in men require: The lineaments of gratified desire.
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A dog starv'd at the master's gate Predicts the ruin of the State. A horse misus'd upon the road Calls to heaven for human blood. Each outcry of the hunted hare A fibre from the brain does tear, A skylark wounded on the wing, A cherubim does cease to sing.
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Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee?
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For everything that lives is holy, life delights in life.
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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!
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