Songs from ‘An Island in The Moon’
Children of the future age, Reading this indignant page, Know that in a former time Love, sweet love, was thought a cr… In the age of gold,
WHEN the green woods laugh with… And the dimpling stream runs laugh… When the air does laugh with our m… And the green hill laughs with the… When the meadows laugh with lively…
I wander thro’ each charter’d stre… Near where the charter’d Thames d… And mark in every face I meet Marks of weakness, marks of woe. In every cry of every Man,
Silent, silent Night Quench the holy light Of thy torches bright. For possess’d of Day Thousand spirits stray
q| I will sing you a song of Los,… He sung it to four harps, at the t… In heart-formèd Africa. Urizen faded! Ariston shudder’d! And thus the Song began:—
Sweet Mary, the first time she ev… Came into the ball—room among the… The young men and maidens around h… And these are the words upon every… `An Angel is here from the heaven…
The wild winds weep And the night is a—cold; Come hither, Sleep, And my griefs infold: But lo! the morning peeps
TO be or not to be Of great capacity, Like Sir Isaac Newton, Or Locke, or Doctor South, Or Sherlock upon Death—
q|Preludium to the First Book of… Of the primeval Priest’s assum’d… When Eternals spurn’d back his Re… And gave him a place in the North… Obscure, shadowy, void, solitary.
WHO is this, that with unerring step dares tempt the wilds, where only Nature’s foot hath trod? ’Tis Contemplation, daughter of the grey Morning! Majestical she steppeth, and with her p...
O Rose, thou art sick! The invisible worm That flies in the night, In the howling storm, Has found out thy bed
WHEN silver snow decks Sylvio’s… And jewel hangs at shepherd’s nose… We can abide life’s pelting storm, That makes our limbs quake, if our… Whilst Virtue is our walking-staf…
The daughters of Mne Seraphim led… All but the youngest; she in palen… To fade away like morning beauty f… Down by the river of Adona her so… And thus her gentle lamentation fa…
O THOU with dewy locks, who look… Thro’ the clear windows of the mor… Thine angel eyes upon our western… Which in full choir hails thy appr… The hills tell each other, and the…
Is this a holy thing to see In a rich and fruitful land, Babes reduced to misery, Fed with cold and usurous hand? Is that trembling cry a song?