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Lo! now the direful monster, whose skin clings To his strong bones, strides o'er the groaning rocks: He withers all in silence, and his hand Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life.
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
Life
Winter
Stride
Rocks
Frail
Whose
Freeze
Silence
Monster
Freezes
Hand
Monsters
Withers
Strong
Skin
Strides
Hands
Skins
Groaning
Earth
Bones
Clings
More quotes by William Blake
A robin redbreast in a cage Puts all heaven in a rage.
William Blake
If you have form'd a circle to go into, Go into it yourself, and see how you would do. They said this mystery never shall cease: The priest promotes war, and the soldier peace.
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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.
William Blake
One thought fills immensity.
William Blake
The hours of folly are measured by the clock but of wisdom, no clock can measure.
William Blake
The world of imagination is the world of eternity.
William Blake
If you cannot imagine with the mind's eye much more than you can see with the mortal eye, you have a very poor imagination indeed.
William Blake
When the doors of perception are cleansed, men will see things as they truly are, infinite.
William Blake
Angels are happier than men and devils, because they are not always prying after good and evil in one another, and eating the tree of knowledge for Satan's gratification.
William Blake
How do you know but ev’ry Bird that cuts the airy way, Is an immense world of delight, clos’d by your senses five?
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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.
William Blake
The cut worm forgives the plow.
William Blake
He loves to sit and hear me sing, Then, laughing, sports and plays with me Then stretches out my golden wing, And mocks my loss of liberty.
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We are led to believe a lie When we see not through the eye.
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It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted.
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On no other ground Can I sow my seed Without tearing up Some stinking weed.
William Blake
Bring me my bow of burning gold: Bring me my arrows of desire: Bring me my spear: O clouds, unfold! Bring me my chariot of fire.
William Blake
The little ones leaped, and shouted, and laugh'd And all the hills echoed
William Blake
The stars are threshed, and the souls are threshed from their husks.
William Blake
You throw the sand against the wind and the wind blows it back again.
William Blake