Quote

Think not thou canst sigh a sigh And thy maker is not by Think not thou canst weep a tear And thy maker is not near.

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
Pity
Thou
Canst
God
Maker
Tears
Weep
Think
Sigh
Thinking
Tear
Makers
Near

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Excessive sorrow laughs. Excessive joy weeps.
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He who pretends to be either painter or engraver without being a master of drawing is an imposter.
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For I dance And drink and sing, Till some blind hand Shall brush my wing. If thought is life And strength and breath And the want Of thought is death Then am I A happy fly If I live Or if I die
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The eagle never lost so much time as when he submitted to learn of the crow
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I will not cease from mental fight Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand.
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Every wolf's and lion's howl Raises from Hell a human soul.
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If you have formed a circle to go into,Go into it yourself and see how you would do.
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Do what you will this life's a fiction, And is made up of contradiction.
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I asked a thief to steal me a peach: He turned up his eyes. I asked a lithe lady to lie her down: Holy and meek, she cries. As soon as I went An angel came. He winked at the thief And smiled at the dame- And without one word spoke Had a peach from the tree, And 'twixt earnest and joke Enjoyed the lady.
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Can I see a falling tear, And not feel my sorrow's share?
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How sweet I roamed from field to field, And tasted all the summer's pride, Till I the prince of love beheld, Who in the sunny beams did glide!
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When Sir Joshua Reynolds died All Nature was degraded The King dropped a tear in the Queen's ear, And all his pictures faded.
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Sweet babe, in thy face Soft desires I can trace, Secret joys and secret smiles, Little pretty infant wiles.
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Everything is beautiful in its own way. Exuberance is beauty.
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When the voices of children are heard on the greenAnd laughing is heard on the hill,My heart is at rest within my breastAnd everything else is still.
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'Come hither, my boy, tell me what thou seest there?' 'A fool tangled in a religious snare.'
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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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What is the price of experience? Do men buy it for a song? Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the price of all the man hath, his house, his wife, his children.
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Then the Parson might preach, & drink, & sing, And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring And modest dame Lurch, who is always at Church, Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch.
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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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