Wednesday, July 20, 2011



by: William Blake (1757-1827)

  • HOU fair-hair'd angel of the evening,
  • Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light
  • Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown
  • Smile on our loves, and while thou drawest the
  • Blue curtains of the sky, scatter thy silver dew
  • On every flower that shuts its sweet eyes
  • In timely sleep. Let thy west wind sleep on
  • The lake; speak silence with thy glimmering eyes,
  • And wash the dusk with silver. Soon, full soon,
  • Dost thou withdraw; then the wolf rages wide,
  • And then the lion glares through the dun forest:
  • The fleeces of our flocks are cover'd with
  • Thy sacred dew: protect them with thine influence!
  • 1 comment:

    ellie said...

    From Poetical Sketches.
    In his youth Blake wrote conventional poetry, some of which was published by his friends in a conventional book. It is lovely work but distinct from his mature work.