William Blake
Songs of Innocence and of Experience * And did those feet in ancient times
The book of Thel * The Marriage of Heaven and Hell * Jerusalem (30 plates)
The book of Urizen * The book of Ahania * The book of Los
(1789 / 1794)
King's College, Cambridge. Copy W.
Plate 29 
The Author & Printer W Blake
Plate 30 
    Hear the voice of the Bard! 
    Who Present, Past, & Future sees 
    Whose ears have heard, 
    The Holy Word, 
    That walk'd among the ancient trees. 
    Calling the lapsed Soul 
    And weeping in the evening dew: 
    That might controll, 
    The starry pole; 
    And fallen fallen light renew! 
    O Earth O Earth return! 
    Arise from out the dewy grass; 
    Night is worn, 
    And the morn 
    Rises from the slumberous mass. 
    Turn away no more: 
    Why wilt thou turn away 
    The starry floor 
    The watry shore 
    Is giv'n thee till the break of day. 
    Earth rais'd up her head, 
    From the darkness dread & drear. 
    Her light fled: 
    Stony dread! 
    And her locks cover'd with grey despair. 
    Prisen'd on watry shore 
    Starry Jealousy does keep my den 
    Cold and hoar 
    Weeping o'er 
    I hear the Father of the ancient men 
    Selfish father of men 
    Cruel jealous selfish fear 
    Can delight 
    Chain'd in night 
    The virgins of youth and morning bear. 
    Does spring hide its joy 
    When buds and blossoms grow? 
    Does the sower? 
    Sow by night? 
    Or the plowman in darkness plow? 
    Break this heavy chain, 
    That does freeze my bones around 
    Selfish! vein, 
    Eternal bane! 
    That free Love with bondage bound. 
Plate 31 
Plate 32 
    Love seeketh not Itself to please, 
    Nor for itself hath any care; 
    But for another gives its ease, 
    And builds a Heaven in Hells despair. 
    So sang a little Clod of Clay, 
    Trodden with the cattles feet: 
    But a Pebble of the brook, 
    Warbled out these metres meet. 
    Love seeketh only Self to please, 
    To bind another to its delight; 
    Joys in anothers loss of ease, 
    And builds a Hell in Heavens despite. 
Plate 33 
    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? 
    Can it be a song of joy? 
    And so many children poor? 
    It is a land of poverty! 
    And their sun does never shine. 
    And their fields are bleak & bare. 
    And their ways are fill'd with thorns. 
    It is eternal Winter there. 
    For where-e'er the sun does shine, 
    And where-e'er the rain does fall: 
    Babe can never hunger there, 
    Nor poverty the mind appall. 
Plate 34 
    In futurity; 
    I prophetic see, 
    That the earth from sleep, 
    (Grave the sentence deep) 
    Shall arise and seek 
    For her maker meek: 
    And the desart wild 
    Become a garden mild. 
    In the southern clime, 
    Where the summers prime, 
    Never fades away; 
    Lovely Lyca lay. 
    Seven summers eid 
    Lovely Lyca told. 
    She had wanderd long, 
    Hearing wild birds song. 
    Sweet sleep come to me 
    Underneath this tree; 
    Do father, mother weep. 
    'Where can Lyca sleep'. 
    Lost in desart wild 
    Is your little child. 
    How can Lyca sleep, 
    If her mother weep. 
    If her heart does ake, 
    Then let Lyca wake; 
    If.my mother sleep, 
    Lyca shall not weep. 
    Frowning frowning night, 
    O'er this desart bright, 3 
    Let thy moon arise; 
    While I close my eyes. 
    Sleeping Lyca lay; 
    While the beasts of prey, 
    Come from caverns deep, 
    View'd the maid asleep 
    The kingly lion stood 
    And the virgin view'd, 
    Then he gambold round 
    O'er the hallowd ground:  
    Leopards, tygers play, 
    Round her as she lay; 
    While the lion old, 
    Bow'd his mane of gold. 
    And her bosom lick, 
    And upon her neck, 
    From his eyes of flame, 
    Ruby tears there came; 
    While the lioness, 
    Loos'd her slender dress, 
    And naked they convey'd 
    To caves the sleeping maid.  
    All the night in woe 
    Lyca's parents go: 
    Over vallies deep, 
    While the desarts weep. 
    Tired and woe-begone, 
    Hoarse with making moan: 
    Arm in arm seven days, 
    They trac'd the desart ways. 
    Seven nights they sleep, 
    Among shadows deep: 
    And dream they see their child 
    Starv'd in desart wild. 
    Pale thro pathless ways 
    The fancied image strays, 
Plate 35 
Plate 36 
    Famish'd, weeping, weak 
    With hollow piteous shriek 
    Rising from unrest, 
    The trembling woman prest, 
    With feet of weary woe; 
    She could no further go. 
    In his arms he bore, 
    Her arm'd with sorrow sore; 
    Till before their way, 
    A couching lion lay. 
    Turning back was vain, 
    Soon his heavy mane, 
    Bore them to the ground; 
    Then he stalk'd around, 
    Smelling to his prey. 
    But their fears allay, 
    When he licks their hands; 
    And silent by them stands. 
    They look upon his eyes 
    Fill'd with deep surprise: 
    And wondering behold, 
    A spirit arm'd in gold. 
    On his head a crown 
    On his shoulders down, 
    Flow'd his gelden hair. 
    Gene was all their care. 
    Follow me he said, 
    Weep not for the maid; 
    In my palace deep, 
    Lyca lies asleep. 
    Then they followed 
    Where the vision led: 
    And saw their sleeping child, 
    Among tygers wild. 
    To this day they dwell 
    In a lonely dell 
    Nor fear the welvish howl, 
    Nor the lions growl. 
Plate 37 
    A little black thing among the snow: 
    Crying weep, weep. in notes of woe! 
    Where are thy father & mother? say? 
    They are both gone up to the church to pray. 
    Because I was happy upon the heath. 
    And smil'd among the winters snow: 
    They clothed me in the clothes of death. 
    And taught me to sing the notes of woe. 
    And because I am happy. & dance & sing. 
    They think they have done me no injury: 
    And are gone to praise God & his Priest & King 
    Who make up a heaven of our misery. 
Plate 38 
    When the voices of children, are heard on the green 
    And whisperings are in the dale: 
    The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind, 
    My face turns green and pale. 
    Then come home my children, the sun is gone down 
    And the dews of night arise 
    Your spring & your day, are wasted in play 
    And your winter and night in disguise. 


Plate 39 
    O Rose thou art sick. 
    The invisible worm, 
    That flies in the night 
    In the howling storm: 
    Has found out thy bed 
    Of crimson joy: 
    And his dark secret love 
    Does thy life destroy.  
  Plate 40 
    THE FLY 
    Little Fly 
    thy summers play, 
    My thoughtless hand 
    Has brush'd away. 
    Am not I 
    A fly like thee? 
    Or art not thou 
    A man like me? 
    For I dance 
    And drink & sing; 
    Till some blind hand 
    Shall brush my wing. 
    If thought is life 
    And strength & breath; 
    And the want 
    Of thought is death; 
    Then am I 
    A happy fly, 
    If I live, 
    Or if I die. 
Plate 41 
    I Dreamt a Dream! what can it mean? 
    And that I was a maiden Queen: 
    Guarded by an Angel mild; 
    Witless woe, was ne'er beguil'd! 
    And I wept both night and day 
    And he wip'd my tears away 
    And I wept both day and night 
    And hid from him my hearts delight 
    So he took his wings and fled: 
    Then the morn blush'd rosy red: 
    I dried my tears & armd my fears, 
    With ten thousand shields and spears. 
    Soon my Angel came again: 
    I was arm'd, he came in vain: 
    For the time of youth was fled 
    And grey hairs were en my head. 
Plate 42 
    Tyger Tyger, burning bright, 
    In the forests of the night: 
    What immortal hand or eye, 
    Could frame thy fearful symmetry? 
    In what distant deeps er skies 
    Burnt the fire of thine eyes! 
    On what wings dare he aspire? 
    What the hand, dare sieze the fire? 
    And what shoulder, & what art, 
    Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 
    And when thy heart began to beat, 
    What dread hand? & what dread feet? 
    What the hammer? what the chain, 
    In what furnace was thy brain? 
    What the anvil? what dread grasp, 
    Dare its deadly terrors clasp? 
    When the stars threw down their spears 
    And water'd heaven with their tears: 
    Did he smile his work to see? 
    Did he who made the Lamb make thee? 
    Tyger, Tyger burning bright, 
    In the forests of the night: 
    What immortal hand or eye, 
    Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? 
Plate 43 
    A flower was efford to me; 
    Such a flower as May never bore. 
    But I said I've a Pretty Rose-tree. 
    And I passed the sweet flower o'er. 
    Then I went to my Pretty Rose-tree; 
    To tend her by day and by night. 
    But my Rose turned away with jealousy: 
    And her thorns were my only delight. 
    Ah Sun-flower! weary of time. 
    Who countest the steps of the Sun: 
    Seeking after that sweet golden clime 
    Where the travellers journey is done. 
    Where the Youth pined away with desire, 
    And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow: 
    Arise from their graves and aspire, 
    Where my Sun-flower wishes to go. 
    The modest Rose puts forth a thorn: 
    The humble Sheep, a threatning horn: 
    While the Lilly white, shall in Love delight, 
    Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright   
Plate 44 
    I went to the Garden of Love. 
    And saw what I never had seen: 
    A Chapel was built in the midst, 
    Where I used to .play en the green. 
    And the gates of this Chapel were shut, 
    And Thou shalt not. writ over the door; 
    So I turn'd to the Garden of Love, 
    That so many sweet flowers bore. 
    And I saw it was filled with graves, 
    And tomb-stones where flowers should be: 
    And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds, 
    And binding with briars, my joys & desires. 
Plate 45 
    Dear Mother, dear Mother, the Church is cold. 
    But the Ale-house is healthy & pleasant & warm; 
    Besides I can tell where I am use'd well, 
    Such usage in heaven will never do well. 
    But if at the Church they would give us some Ale. 
    And a pleasant fire, our souls to regale; 
    We'd sing and we'd pray, all the live-long day; 
    Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray, 
    Then the Parson might preach & drink & sing. 
    And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring: 
    And modest dame Lurch, who is always at Church, 
    Wou'ld not have bandy children nor fasting nor birch. 
    And God like a father rejoicing to see, 
    His children as pleasant and happy as he: 
    Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the Barrel 
    But kiss him & give him both drink and apparel. 
Plate 46 
    I wander thro' each charter'd street, 
    Near where the charter'd Thames does flow. 
    And mark in every face I meet 
    Marks of weakness, marks of woe. 
    In every cry of every Man, 
    In every Infants cry of fear, 
    In every voice: in every ban, 
    The mind-forg'd manacles I hear 
    How the Chimney-sweepers cry 
    Every blackning Church appalls, 
    And the hapless Soldiers sigh, 
    Runs in blood down Palace walls 
    But most thro' midnight streets I hear 
    How the youthful Harlots curse 
    Blasts the new-born Infants tear 
    And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse 
Plate 47 
    Pity would be no more, 
    If we did not make somebody Poor: 
    And Mercy no more could be, 
    If all were as happy as we; 
    And mutual fear brings peace; 
    Till the selfish loves increase. 
    Then Cruelty knits a snare, 
    And spreads his baits with care. 
    Me sits down with holy fears, 
    And waters the ground with tears: 
    Then Hurnilit~ takes its reot 
    Underneath his foot. 
    Soon spreads the dismal shade 
    Of Mystery over his head; 
    And the Catterpiller and Fly, 
    Feed on the Mystery. 
    And it bears the fruit of Deceit, 
    Ruddy and sweet to eat; 
    And the Raven his nest has made 
    In its thickest shade. 
    The Gods of the earth and sea, 
    Sought thro' Nature to find this Tree 
    But their search was all in vain: 
    There grows one in the Human Brain 
 Plate 48 
    My mother groand! my father wept. 
    Into the dangerous world I leapt: 
    Helpless, naked, piping loud; 
    Like a fiend hid in a cloud. 
    Struggling in my fathers hands: 
    Striving against my swadling bands: 
    Bound and weary I thought best 
    To sulk upon my mothers breast.  
Plate 49 
    I was angry with my friend: 
    I told my wrath, my wrath did end. 
    I was angry with my foe: 
    I told it not, my wrath did grow. 
    And I watered it in fears. 
    Night & morning with my tears: 
    And I sunned it with smiles. 
    And with soft deceitful wiles. 
    And it grew both day and night. 
    Till it here an apple bright. 
    And my foe beheld it shine. 
    And he knew that it was mine. 
    And into my garden stole. 
    When the night had veild the pole; 
    In the morning glad I see; 
    My foe outstretchd beneath the tree. 
Plate 50 
    Nought loves anether as itself 
    Nor venerates another so. 
    Nor is it pessible to The ught 
    A greater than itself to know: 
    And Father, how can I love yen, 
    Or any of my brothers more? 
    I love you like the little bird 
    That picks up crumbs around the door. 
    The Priest sat by and heard the child. 
    In trembling zeal he siez'd his hair: 
    He led him by his little coat: 
    And all admir'd the Priestly care. 
    And standing on the altar high, 
    Lo what a fiend is here! said he: 
    One who sets reason up for judge 
    Of our most holy Mystery. 
    The weeping child could not be heard. 
    The weeping parents wept in vain: 
    They strip'd him to his little shirt. 
    And bound him in an iron chain. 
    And burn'd him in a holy place, 
    Where many had been burn'd before: 
    The weeping parents wept in vain. 
    Are such things done on Albions shore. 
Plate 51 
    Children of the future Age, 
    Reading this indignant page: 
    Know that in a former time, 
    Love! sweet Love! was thought a crime. 
    In the Age of Gold, 
    Free from winters cold: 
    Youth and maiden bright, 
    To the holy light, 
    Naked in the sunny beams delight 

    Once a youthful pair 
    Fill'd with softest care: 
    Met in garden bright, 
    Where the holy light, 
    Had just remov'd the curtains of the night. 

    There in rising day, 
    On the grass they play: 
    Parents were afar: 
    Strangers came not near: 
    And the maiden soon forgot her fear. 
    Tired with kisses sweet 
    They agree to meet, 
    When the silent sleep 
    Waves o'er heavens deep; 
    And the weary tired wanderers weep. 

    To her father white 
    Came the maiden bright: 
    But his loving look. 
    Like the holy book, 
    All her tender limbs with terror shook. 
    Ona! pale and weak! 
    To thy father speak: 
    O the trembling fear! 
    O the dismal care! 
    That shakes the blossoms of my hoary hair 

Plate 52 

    Whate'er is Born of Mortal Birth, 
    Must be consumed with the Earth 
    To rise from Generation free; 
    Then what have I to do with thee? 
    The Sexes sprung from Shame & Pride 
    Blow'd in the morn: in evening died 
    But Mercy changd Death into Sleep; 
    The Sexes rose to work & weep. 
    Thou Mother of my Mortal part 
    With cruelty didst mould my Heart, 
    And with false self-decieving tears, 
    Didst bind my Nostrils Eyes & Ears. 
    Didst close my Tongue in senseless clay 
    And me to Mortal Life betray: 
    The Death of Jesus set me free, 
    Then what have I to do with thee? 

Plate 53 

    I love to rise in a summer morn, 
    When the birds sing on every tree; 
    The distant huntsman winds his horn, 
    And the sky4ark sings with me. 
    O! what sweet company. 
    But to go to school in a summer morn 
    O! it drives all joy away; 
    Under a cruel eye outworn, 
    The little ones spend the day, 
    In sighing and dismay. 
    Ah! then at times I drooping sit, 
    And spend many an anxious hour. 
    Nor in my book can I take delight, 
    Nor sit in learnings bower, 
    Worn thro' with the dreary shower 
    How can the bird that is born for joy, 
    Sit in a cage and sing. 
    How can a child when fears annoy, 
    But droop his tender wing, 
    And forget his youthful spring. 
    O! father & mother, if buds are nip'd, 
    And blossoms blown away, 
    And if the tender plants are strip'd 
    Of their joy in the springing day, 
    By sorrow and cares dismay, 
    How shall the summer arise in joy 
    Or the summer fruits appear 
    Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy 
    Or bless the mellowing year, 
    When the blasts of winter appear. 

Plate 54 

    Youth of delight come hither: 
    And see the opening morn, 
    Image of truth new born 
    Doubt is fled & clouds of reason 
    Dark disputes & artful teazing. 
    Folly is an endless maze, 
    Tangled roots perplex her ways, 
    How many have fallen there! 
    They stumble all night over bones of the dead; 
    And feel they know not what but care; 
    And wish to lead others when they should be led. 

Songs of Innocence and of Experience * And did those feet in ancient times
The book of Thel * The Marriage of Heaven and Hell * Jerusalem (30 plates)
The book of Urizen * The book of Ahania * The book of Los
Das große Blake-Archiv
mit Internet-Darbietung aller graphisch-poetisch-mythisch-prophetischen Werke William Blakes
in den verschiedenen Colorierungsversionen
Philipp Otto Runge:
Der Morgen : Lilie
Klingsohrs Märchen von Fabel und Eros  (zu Ende des ersten Teils des Heinrich von Ofterdingen)
Astralis (Lied zu Anfang des zweiten Teils des Heinrich von Ofterdingen)
Die Lehrlinge zu Sais (philosophisches Romanfragment)
Hymne (Geistliche Lieder, Nr.VII: Leib und Blut)
Quellen zum Thema "Schöpfung":
Genesis 1-11 : Psalmen : Rgveda : Platon : Proklos : Cicero : Ovid : Mar.Victorinus : J.Böhme : Schelling