A flower was offer'd 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 turn'd away with jealousy,
And her thorns were my only delight.
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 winter's snow,
'They cloth'd 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.'
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 chang'd Death to Sleep;
The Sexes rose to work & weep.
Thou, Mother of my Mortal part,
With cruelty didst mould my Heart,
And with false self-deceiving 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?
The little boy lost in the lonely fen,
Led by the wand'ring light,
Began to cry; but God, ever nigh,
Appear'd like his father in white.
He kissed the child & by the hand led
And to his mother brought,
Who in sorrow pale, thro' the lonely dale,
Her little boy weeping sought.
How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot!
From the morn to the evening he strays;
He shall follow his sheep all the day,
And his tongue shall be filled with praise.
For he hears the lamb's innocent call,
And he hears the ewe's tender reply;
He is watchful while they are in peace,
For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.
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.
I walked abroad in a snowy day:
I ask'd the soft snow with me to play:
She play'd & she melted in all her prime,
And the winter call'd it a dreadful crime.
Cruelty has a Human Heart,
And Jealousy a Human Face;
Terror the Human Form Divine,
And Secrecy the Human Dress.
The Human Dress is forged Iron,
The Human Form a fiery Forge,
The Human Face a Furnace seal'd,
The Human Heart its hungry Gorge.
There be none of Beauty's daughters
With a magic like thee;
And like music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me:
When, as if its sound were causing
The charmed ocean's pausing,
The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lull'd winds seem dreaming:
And the midnight moon is weaving
Her bright chain o'er the deep;
Whose breast is gently heaving,
As an infant's asleep;
So the spirit bows before thee,
To listen and adore thee;
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of Summer's ocean.
The apple tree never asks the beech
how he shall grow, nor the lion the horse
how he shall take his prey.
The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest.
If others had not been foolish we should have been so.
The soul of sweet delight can never be defiled.
When thou seest an eagle, thou seest a portion
of Genius. Lift up thy head!
As the caterpillar chooses the fairest leaves
to lay her eggs on, so the priest lays his curse
on the fairest joys.
To create a little flower is the labour of ages.
Damn braces; bless relaxes.
The best wine is the oldest,
the best water the newest.
Prayers plough not; praises reap not; joys laugh not;
sorrows weep not.
The head Sublime, the heart Pathos,
the genitals Beauty, the hands and feet Proportion.
As the air to a bird, or the sea to a fish,
so is contempt to the contemptible.
The crow wished everything was black,
the owl that everything was white.
Exuberance is Beauty.
If the lion was advised by the fox,
he would be cunning.
Improvement makes straight roads,
but the crooked roads without Improvement
are roads of Genius.
Sooner murder an infant in its cradle
than nurse unacted desires.
Where man is not, nature is barren.
Truth can never be told so as to be
understood and not to be believed.
Enough! or Too much.
* * *
The ancient poets animated all sensible
objects with Gods and Geniuses, calling
them by the names and adorning them with
properties of woods, rivers, mountains, lakes,
cities, nations, and whatever their enlarged
and numerous senses could perceive.
And particularly they studied the Genius of each
city and country, placing it under its mental deity.
Till a system was formed, which some took
advantage of and enslaved the vulgar by
attempting to realize or abstract the mental
deities from their objects.
Thus began Priesthood.
Choosing forms of worship from poetic tales.
And at length they pronounced that the Gods
had ordered such things.
Thus men forgot that all deities reside
in the human breast.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 