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

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The child's toys and the old man's reasons are the fruits of two seasons.
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The ruins of time build mansions in eternity.
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Each man is haunted until his humanity awakens.
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A truth that's told with bad intent beats all the lies you can invent.
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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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LOVE'S SECRET Never seek to tell thy love, Love that never told can be For the gentle wind doth move Silently, invisibly. I told my love, I told my love, I told her all my heart, Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears. Ah! she did depart! Soon after she was gone from me, A traveller came by, Silently, invisibly: He took her with a sigh.
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There is no mistake so great as the mistake of not going on.
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Can I see another's woe, and not be in sorrow too? Can I see another's grief, and not seek for kind relief?
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He who does not imagine in stronger and better lineaments, and in stronger and better light than his perishing and mortal eye can see, does not imagine at all.
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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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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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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.
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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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I give you the end of a golden string, Only wind it into a ball, It will lead you in at Heaven's gate Built in Jerusalem's wall.
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The ignorant Insults of Individuals will not hinder me from doing my duty to my Art
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He who has suffered you to impose on him knows you.
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Poetry fettered, fetters the human race. Nations are destroyed or flourish in proportion as their poetry, painting, and music are destroyed or flourish.
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Kill not the moth nor butterfly, For the Last Judgement draweth nigh.
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Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds Kiss thy perfumed garments let us taste Thy morn and evening breath scatter thy pearls Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.
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