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- Herausgeber: eKitap Projesi
- Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015
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.
"Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
Sing thy songs of happy cheer!"
So I sang the same again,
While he wept with joy to hear.
"Piper, sit thee down and write
In a book, that all may read."
So he vanish'd from my sight;
And I pluck'd a hollow reed,
And I made a rural pen,
And I stain'd the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs
Every child may joy to hear.
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Seitenzahl: 36
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Poems of William Blake
“A SELECTION OF BLAKE’S POEMS”
William Blake
ILLUSTRATED &
PUBLISHED BY
E-KİTAP PROJESİ & CHEAPEST BOOKS
www.cheapestboooks.com
www.facebook.com/EKitapProjesi
Copyright, 2015 by e-Kitap Projesi
Istanbul
Contact:
ISBN: 978-615-5565-72-4
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
INTRODUCTION
THE SHEPHERD
THE ECHOING GREEN
THE LAMB
THE LITTLE BLACK BOY
THE BLOSSOM
THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER
THE LITTLE BOY LOST
THE LITTLE BOY FOUND
LAUGHING SONG
A SONG
DIVINE IMAGE
HOLY THURSDAY
NIGHT
SPRING
NURSE'S SONG
INFANT JOY
A DREAM
ON ANOTHER'S SORROW
SONGS OF EXPERIENCE
INTRODUCTION
EARTH'S ANSWER
THE CLOD AND THE PEBBLE
HOLY THURSDAY
THE LITTLE GIRL LOST
THE LITTLE GIRL FOUND
THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER
NURSE'S SONG
THE SICK ROSE
THE FLY
THE ANGEL
THE TYGER
MY PRETTY ROSE TREE
AH SUNFLOWER
THE LILY
THE GARDEN OF LOVE
THE LITTLE VAGABOND
LONDON
THE HUMAN ABSTRACT
INFANT SORROW
A POISON TREE
A LITTLE BOY LOST
A LITTLE GIRL LOST
THE SCHOOLBOY
TO TIRZAH
THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT BARD
APPENDIX
A DIVINE IMAGE
THE BOOK of THEL
THEL
I
II.
III.
IV.
SONGS OF INNOCENCE AND OF EXPERIENCE
and
THE BOOK of THEL
SONGS OF INNOCENCE
INTRODUCTION
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.
"Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;Sing thy songs of happy cheer!"So I sang the same again,While he wept with joy to hear.
"Piper, sit thee down and writeIn a book, that all may read."So he vanish'd from my sight;And I pluck'd a hollow reed,
And I made a rural pen,And I stain'd the water clear,And I wrote my happy songsEvery child may joy to hear.
THE SHEPHERD
How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot!From the morn to the evening he stays;He shall follow his sheep all the day,And his tongue shall be filled with praise.
For he hears the lambs' innocent call,And he hears the ewes' tender reply;He is watching while they are in peace,For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.
THE ECHOING GREEN
The sun does arise,And make happy the skies;The merry bells ringTo welcome the Spring;The skylark and thrush,The birds of the bush,Sing louder aroundTo the bells' cheerful sound;While our sports shall be seenOn the echoing Green.
Old John, with white hair,Does laugh away care,Sitting under the oak,Among the old folk.They laugh at our play,And soon they all say,"Such, such were the joysWhen we all—girls and boys—In our youth-time were seenOn the echoing Green."
Till the little ones, weary,No more can be merry:The sun does descend,And our sports have an end.Round the laps of their mothersMany sisters and brothers,Like birds in their nest,Are ready for rest,And sport no more seenOn the darkening green.
THE LAMB
Little Lamb, who made theeDost thou know who made thee,Gave thee life, and bid thee feedBy the stream and o'er the mead;Gave thee clothing of delight,Softest clothing, woolly, bright;Gave thee such a tender voice,Making all the vales rejoice?Little Lamb, who made thee?Dost thou know who made thee?
Little Lamb, I'll tell thee;Little Lamb, I'll tell thee:He is called by thy name,For He calls Himself a LambHe is meek, and He is mild,He became a little child.I a child, and thou a lamb,We are called by His name.Little Lamb, God bless thee!Little Lamb, God bless thee!
THE LITTLE BLACK BOY
My mother bore me in the southern wild,And I am black, but oh my soul is white!White as an angel is the English child,But I am black, as if bereaved of light.
My mother taught me underneath a tree,And, sitting down before the heat of day,
