Through the clear windows of the morning, turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!
The hills tell one another, and the listening
Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turn'd
Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth
And let thy holy feet visit our clime!
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 lovesick land that mourns for thee.
O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put
Thy golden crown upon her languish'd head,
Whose modest tresses are bound up for thee.
3 comments:
Nice poem!I've studied William Blake at school. I remember this poem.
I thought it appropriate considering the mild, spring like weather we've been having - but I gather it's going to turn cold again next week. Maybe I was a little premature.
Last week's unseasonally mild weather was absolute, conclusive proof of global warming.
This week's unseasonally cold, snowy weather is absolute, conclusive proof of global warming.
This time last year, England's reservoirs were almost empty, and warnings of droughts and stand-pipes abounded...Global Warming.
This time this year (er, that is, now), reservoirs are 85% full again. Uh-oh! That dastardly cunning fox, Global Warming, strikes again!!
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