Oer my Sins Thou sit and moan...

Oer my Sins Thou sit and moant
Hast thou no Sins of thy ownt
Oer my Sins thou sit and weept
And lull thy own Sins fast asleept

What Transgressions I commit
Are for thy Transgressions fit
They thy Harlots thou their Slave
And my Bed becomes their Grave

Poor pale pitiable form
That I follow in a Storm
Iron tears and groans of lead
Bind around my akeing head

And let us go to the highest downs
With many pleasing wiles
The Woman that does not love your Frowns
Will never embrace your smiles

poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1794)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I heard an Angel singing...

I heard an Angel singing
When the day was springing
Mercy Pity Peace
Is the worlds release

Thus he sung all day
Over the new mown hay
Till the sun went down
And haycocks looked brown

I heard a Devil curse
Over the heath & the furze
Mercy could be no more
If there was nobody poor

And pity no more could be
If all were as happy as we
At his curse the sun went downt
And the heavens gave a frown

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poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1793)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A fairy skipd upon my knee

A fairy skipd upon my kneet
Singing and dancing merrily
I said Thou thing of patches rings
Pins Necklaces and such like things
Disguiser of the Female Form
Thou paltry gilded poisnous worm
Weeping he fell upon my thigh
And thus in tears did soft reply
Knowest thou not O Fairies Lord
How much by us Contemnd Abhorrd
Whatever hides the Female form
That cannot bear the Mental storm
Therefore in Pity still we give
Our lives to make the Female live
And what would turn into disease
We turn to what will joy and pleaset

poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1794)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Why was Cupid a Boy

Why was Cupid a Boy
And why a boy was he
He should have been a Girl
For ought that I can see

For he shoots with his bow
And the Girl shoots with her Eye
And they both are merry and glad
And laugh when we do cry

And to make Cupid a Boyt
Was the Cupid Girls mocking plant
For a boy cant interpret the thingt
Till he is become a man

And then hes so piercd with care
And wounded with arrowy smarts
That the whole business of his life
Is to pick out the heads of the darts

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poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1794)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A cradle song

Sleep Sleep beauty bright
Dreaming oer the joys of night
Sleep Sleep: in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit & weep

Sweet Babe in thy face
Soft desires I can trace
Secret joys & secret smiles
Little pretty infant wiles.

As thy softest limbs I feel
Smiles as of the morning steal
Oer thy cheek & oer thy breast
Where thy little heart does rest

O the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep
When thy little heart does wake
Then the dreadful lightnings break

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poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1793)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Now Art has lost its mental Charms

Now Art has lost its mental Charmst
France shall subdue the World in Arms
So spoke an Angel at my birth
Then said Descend thou upon Earth

Renew the Arts on Britains Shore
And France shall fall down and adore
With works of Art their Armies meet
And War shall sink beneath thy feett

But if thy Nation Arts refuse
And if they scorn the immortal Muse
France shall the arts of Peace restore
And save thee from the Ungrateful shoret

Spirit who lovst Brittannias Islet
Round which the Fiends of Commerce smilet

[unfinished]

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poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1794)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Birds

He. Where thou dwellest in what Grove
Tell me Fair one tell me love
Where thou thy charming Nest dost build
O thou pride of every field

She. Yonder stands a lonely tree
There I live and mourn for thee
Morning drinks my silent tear
And evening winds my sorrows bear

He. O thou Summers harmony
I have livd & mournd for thee
Each day I mourn along the wood
And night hath heard my sorrows loud

She. Dost thou truly long for me
And am I thus sweet to thee
Sorrow now is at an End
O my Lover & my Friend

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poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1794)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Caverns of the Grave Ive seen

The Caverns of the Grave Ive seent
And these I shewd to Englands Queen
But now the Caves of Hell I viewt
Who shall I dare to shew them to
What mighty Soul in Beautys formt
Shall dauntless View the Infernal Stormt
Egremonts Countess can controllt
The flames of Hell that round me rollt
If she refuse I still go on
Till the Heavens and Earth are gone
Still admird by Noble mindst
Followd by Envy on the winds
Reengravd Time after Time
Ever in their Youthful prime
My Designs unchangd remaint
Time may rage but rage in vain
For above Times troubled Fountains
On the Great Atlantic Mountains
In my Golden House on high
There they Shine Eternally

poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1794)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Land of Dreams

Awake awake my little Boy
Thou wast thy Mothers only joy
Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep
Awake thy Father does thee keep

O what Land is the Land of Dreams
What are its Mountains and what are its Streams
O Father I saw my Mother there
Among the Lillies by waters fair

Among the Lambs clothed in white
She walkd with her Thomas in sweet delight
I wept for joy like a dove I mourn
O when shall I again return

Dear Child I also by pleasant Streams
Have wanderd all Night in the Land of Dreams
But tho calm and warm the Waters wide
I could not get to the other side

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poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1794)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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To the Queen

The Door of Death is made of Gold,
That Mortal Eyes cannot behold;
But, when the Mortal Eyes are clos'd,
And cold and pale the Limbs repos'd,
The Soul awakes; and, wond'ring, sees
In her mild Hand the golden Keys:
The Grave is Heaven's golden Gate,
And rich and poor around it wait;
O Shepherdess of England's Fold,
Behold this Gate of Pearl and Gold!

To dedicate to England's Queen
The Visions that my Soul has seen,
And, by Her kind permission, bring
What I have borne on solemn Wing,
From the vast regions of the Grave,
Before Her Throne my Wings I wave;
Bowing before my Sov'reign's Feet,
“The Grave produc'd these Blossoms sweet
“In mild repose from Earthly strife;

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poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1794)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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