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My silks and fine array, My smiles and languished air, By love are driv'n away And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave: Such end true lovers have.

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
Air
Silk
Fine
Lean
Away
Smiles
True
Grave
Yew
Ends
Graves
Silks
Love
Brings
Mournful
Lovers
Array
Despair
Deck

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Some will say, Is not God alone the Prolific? I answer, God only Acts & Is, in existing beings or Men.
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Energy is the only life, and is from the body and reason is the bound or outward circumference of energy. Energy is eternal delight.
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The Whole Business of Man is The Arts, & All Things Common.
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One thought fills immensity.
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Time is the mercy of Eternity without Time's swiftness Which is the swiftest of all things, all were eternal torment.
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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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What is a wife and what is a harlot? What is a church and what is a theatre? are they two and not one? Can they exist separate? Are not religion and politics the same thing? Brotherhood is religion. O demonstrations of reason dividing families in cruelty and pride!
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The Man who never in his Mind & Thoughts travel'd to Heaven Is No Artist.
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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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The moon, like a flower in heaven's high bower, with silent delight sits and smiles on the night.
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For the Eye altering alters all The Senses roll themselves in fear And the flat Earth becomes a Ball.
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Art degraded, Imagination denied.
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The Errors of a Wise Man make your Rule Rather than the Perfections of a Fool.
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Every Night and every Morn Some to Misery are born. Every Morn and every Night Some are born to Sweet Delight, Some are born to Endless Night.
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Tools were made and born were hands, Every farmer understands.
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I see the Past, Present & Future existing all at once Before me.
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To some people a tree is something so incredibly beautiful that it brings tears to the eyes. To others it is just a green thing that stands in the way.
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O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit Beneath my shady roof there thou may'st rest, And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe And all the daughters of the year shall dance! Sing now the lusty song of fruit and flowers.
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What seems to be, is, to those to whom it seems to be, and is productive of the most dreadful consequences to those to whom it seems to be, even of torments, despair, eternal death.
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