Quote

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.

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
Laughing
Valleys
Piper
Hear
Cheer
Wept
Child
Pleasant
Lamb
Song
Wild
Glee
Children
Clouds
Lambs
Laughter
Pipe
Piped
Saws
Merry
Piping
Songs
Cloud
Pipers

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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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The stars are threshed, and the souls are threshed from their husks.
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The moon, like a flower in heaven's high bower, with silent delight sits and smiles on the night.
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The Angel that presided o'er my birth Said, 'Little creature, formed of joy and mirth, Go love without the help of any thing on earth'.
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Come live, and be merry, and join with me, To sing the sweet chorus of 'Ha ha he!
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When the stars threw down their spears, and watered heaven with their tears, did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
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He who replies to words of doubt doth put the light of knowledge out.
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The Stolen and Perverted Writings of Homer & Ovid, of Plato & Cicero, which all men ought to contemn, are set up by artifice against the Sublime of the Bible
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He who binds to himself a joy Does the winged life destroy But he who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity's sun rise.
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A dog starved at his master's gate Predicts the ruin of the state.
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Auguries of innocence The emmet's inch and eagle's mile Make lame philosophy to smile. He who doubts from what he sees Will ne'er believe, do what you please.
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The pure soul shall mount on native wings, . . . and cut a path into the heaven of glory.
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Heaven is in a grain of sand.
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Better to shun the bait than struggle in the snare.
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And we are put on earth a little space, That we may learn to bear the beams of love.
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I was in a Printing-house in Hell, and saw the method in which knowledge is transmitted from generation to generation.
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Expect poison from the standing water.
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O why was I born with a different face? Why was I not born like the rest of my race?
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God forbid that Truth should be confined to Mathematical Demonstration!
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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.
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