Auguries of Innocence E-book

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                             AUGURIES OF INNOCENCE

                                by William Blake








Electronically Enhanced Text (c) Copyright 1996, World Library(R)



                           AUGURIES OF INNOCENCE
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            To see a World in a Grain of Sand
            And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
            Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
            And Eternity in an hour.
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            A Robin Red breast in a Cage
            Puts all Heaven in a Rage.
            A dove house fill'd with doves & Pigeons
            Shudders Hell thro' all its regions.
            A dog starv'd at his Master's Gate
            Predicts the ruin of the State.
            A Horse misus'd upon the Road
            Calls to Heaven for Human blood.
            Each outcry of the hunted Hare
            A fibre from the Brain does tear.
            A Skylark wounded in the wing,
            A Cherubim does cease to sing.
            The Game Cock clip'd & arm'd for fight
            Does the Rising Sun affright.
            Every Wolf's & Lion's howl
            Raises from Hell a Human Soul.
                                                                  
            The wild deer, wand'ring her & there,
            Keeps the Human Soul from Care.
            The Lamb misus'd breeds Public strife
            And yet forgives the Butcher's Knife.
            The Bat that flits at close of Eve
            Has left the Brain that won't Believe.
            The Owl that calls upon the Night
            Speaks the Unbeliever's fright.
            He who shall hurt the little Wren
            Shall never be belov'd by Men.
            He who the Ox to wrath has mov'd
            Shall never be by Woman lov'd.
            The wanton Boy that kills the Fly
            Shall feel the Spider's enmity.
            He who torments the Chafer's sprite
            Weaves a Bower in endless Night.
            The Caterpillar on the Leaf
            Repeats to thee thy Mother's grief.
            Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly,
            For the Last Judgment draweth nigh.
                                                                  
            He who shall train the Horse to War
            Shall never pass the Polar Bar.
            The Beggar's Dog & Widow's Cat,
            Feed them & thou wilt grow fat.
            The Gnat that sings his Summer's song
            Poison gets from Slander's tongue.
            The poison of the Snake & Newt
            Is the sweat of Envy's Foot.
            The Poison of the Honey Bee
            Is the Artist's Jealousy.
            The Prince's Robes & Beggar's Rags
            Are Toadstools on the Miser's Bags.
            A truth that's told with bad intent
            Beats all the Lies you can invent.
            It is right it should be so;
            Man was made for Joy & Woe;
            And when this we rightly know
            Thro' the World we safely go,
            Joy & Woe are woven fine,
            A Clothing for the Soul divine;
                                                                  
            Under every grief & pine
            Runs a joy with silken twine.
            The Babe is more than swadling Bands;
            Throughout all these Human Lands
            Tools were made, & Born were hands,
            Every Farmer Understands.
            Every Tear from Every Eye
            Becomes a Babe in Eternity;
            This is caught by Females bright
            And return'd to its own delight.
            The Bleat, the Bark, Bellow & Roar
            Are Waves that Beat on Heaven's Shore.
            The Babe that weeps the Rod beneath
            Writes Revenge in realms of death.
            The Beggar's Rags, fluttering in Air,
            Does to Rags the Heavens tear.
            The Soldier, arm'd with Sword & Gun,
            Palsied strikes the Summer's Sun.
            The poor Man's Farthing is worth more
            Than all the Gold on Afric's Shore.
                                                                  
            One Mite wrung from the Labrer's hands
            Shall buy & sell the Miser's Lands:
            Or, if protected from on high,
            Does the whole Nation sell & buy.
            He who mocks the Infant's Faith
            Shall be mock'd in Age & Death.
            He who shall teach the Child to Doubt
            The rotting Grave shall ne'er get out.
            He who respects the Infant's faith
            Triumphs over Hell & Death.
            The Child's Toys & the Old Man's Reasons
            Are the Fruits of the Two seasons.
            The Questioner, who sits so sly,
            Shall never know how to Reply.
            He who replies to words of Doubt
            Doth put the Light of Knowledge out.
            The Strongest Poison ever known
            Came from Caesar's Laurel Crown.
            Nought can deform the Human Race
            Like to the Armour's iron brace.
                                                                 
            When Gold & Gems adorn the Plow
            To peaceful Arts shall Envy Bow.
            A Riddle or the Cricket's Cry
            Is to Doubt a fit Reply.
            The Emmet's Inch & Eagle's Mile
            Make Lame Philosophy to smile.
            He who Doubts from what he sees
            Will ne'er Believe, do what you Please.
            If the Sun & Moon should doubt,
            They'd immediately Go out.
            To be in a Passion you Good may do,
            But no Good if a Passion is in you.
            The Whore & Gambler, by the State
            Licenc'd, build that Nation's Fate.
            The Harlot's cry from Street to Street
            Shall weave old England's winding Sheet.
            The Winners Shout, the Loser's Curse,
            Dance before dead England's Hearse.
            Every Night & every Morn
            Some to Misery are Born.
                                                                 
            Every Morn & every Night
            Some are Born to sweet delight.
            Some are Born to sweet delight,
            Some are Born to Endless Night.
            We are led to Believe a Lie
            When we see not Thro' the Eye
            Which was Born in a Night to perish in a Night
            When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light.
            God Appears & God is Light
            To those poor Souls who dwell in Night,
            But does a Human Form Display
            To those who Dwell in Realms of day.
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                               THE END