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TO CHARLOTTE PULTENEY

TIMELY blossom, infant fair,
Fondling of a happy pair,

а.
Every morn and every night
Their solicitous delight,
Sleeping, waking, still at ease,
Pleasing, without skill to please;
Little gossip, blithe and hale,
Tattling many a broken tale,
Singing many a tuneless song,
Lavish of a heedless tongue;
Simple maiden, void of art,
Babbling out the very heart,
Yet abandon'd to thy will,
Yet imagining no ill,
Yet too innocent to blush;
Like the linnet in the bush
To the mother-linnet's note
Moduling her slender throat;
Chirping forth thy petty joys,
Wanton in the change of toys,
Like the linnet green, in May
Flitting to each bloomy spray
Wearied then and glad of rest,
Like the linnet in the nest :-
This thy present happy lot
This, in time will be forgot:
Other pleasures, other cares,
Ever-busy Time prepares;
And thou shalt in thy daughter see,
This picture, once, resembled thee.

Ambrose Philips

INTRODUCTION TO SONGS OF INNOCENCE

PIPING down the valleys wild
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he laughing said to me:
Pipe a song about a Lamb!'
So I piped with merry cheer.
'Piper, pipe that song again';
So I piped: he wept to hear.

'Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
Sing thy songs of happy cheer':
So I sang the same again,
While he wept with joy to hear.

Piper, sit thee down and write
In a book, that all may read.'
So he vanish'd from my sight,
And I plucked a hollow reed,

And I made a rural pen,
And I stain'd the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs
Every child may joy to hear.

William Blake

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INTRODUCTION TO SONGS OF INNOCENCE

PIPING down the valleys wild
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he laughing said to me:
-Pipe a song about a Lamb l'
So I piped with merry cheer.
'Piper, pipe that song again’;
So I piped: he wept to hear.

a

'Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
Sing thy songs of happy cheer':
So I sang the same again,
While he wept with joy to hear.

a

‘Piper, sit thee down and write
In a book, that all
So he vanish'd from my sight,
And I plucked a hollow reed,

may read.'

And I made a rural pen,
And I Stain'd the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs
Every child may joy to hear.

William Blake

SONG

HOW sweet I roam'd from field to field

And tasted all the summer's pride, Till I the Prince of Love beheld,

Who in the sunny beams did glide!

He show'd me lilies for my hair,

And blushing roses for my brow; He led me through his gardens fair

Where all his golden pleasures grow.

With sweet May dews my wings were wet,

And Phoebus fired my vocal rage; He caught me in his silken net,

And shut me in his golden cage.

He loves to sit and hear me sing,

Then, laughing, sports and plays with me; Then stretches out my golden wing, And mocks my loss of liberty.

William Blake

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