Poems. Selections
| dc.contributor | Oxford Text Archive |
| dc.contributor.author | Blake, William, 1757-1827 |
| dc.date.accessioned | 2018-06-14 |
| dc.date.accessioned | 2019-07-04T10:31:33Z |
| dc.date.available | 2019-07-04T10:31:33Z |
| dc.date.created | 1788 |
| dc.identifier | ota:3070 |
| dc.identifier.citation | http://purl.ox.ac.uk/ota/3070 |
| dc.identifier.uri | http://hdl.handle.net/20.500.12024/3070 |
| dc.description.abstract | First printed in 1789. |
| dc.format.medium | Digital bitstream |
| dc.format.mimetype | text/xml |
| dc.language | English |
| dc.language.iso | eng |
| dc.publisher | University of Oxford |
| dc.relation.ispartof | Oxford Text Archive Core Collection |
| dc.relation.replaces | http://purl.ox.ac.uk/ota/2113 |
| dc.rights | Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License |
| dc.rights.uri | http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ |
| dc.rights.label | PUB |
| dc.subject.lcsh | Poems -- Great Britain -- 18th century |
| dc.title | Poems. Selections |
| dc.type | Text |
| has.files | yes |
| branding | Oxford Text Archive |
| files.size | 244287 |
| files.count | 5 |
| otaterms.date.range | 1700-1799 |
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The Book of Thel
by
William Blake
THEL'S Motto
Does the Eagle know what is in the pit?
Or wilt thou go ask the Mole:
Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod?
Or Love in a golden bowl?
I
The daughters of Mne Seraphim led round their sunny flocks,
All but the youngest: she in paleness sought the secret air.
To fade away like morning beauty from her mortal day:
Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is heard;
And thus her gentle lamentation falls like morning dew.
O life of this our spring! why fades the lotus of the water?
Why fade these children of the spring? born but to smile & fall.
Ah! Thel is like a watry bow, and like a parting cloud,
Like a reflection in a glass: like shadows in the water
Like dreams of infants, like a smile upon an infants face.
Like the doves voice, like transient day, like music in the air:
Ah! gentle may I lay me down and gentle rest my head.
And gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gently hear the voice
Of him that walketh in the garden in the evening time.
The . . .
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