“The poison of the Snake & Newt/ Is the sweat of Envy’s Foot.”

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 & Beggars Rags
Are Toadstools on the Misers 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.

— excerpt from William Blake’s “Auguries of Innocence”

 

L0040023 Woodcut of a branch from the common yew tree (taxus baccata).

“Each outcry of the hunted Hare/ A fibre from the Brain does tear.”

A Horse misusd 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 clipd & armd for fight
Does the Rising Sun affright.

— excerpt from William Blake’s “Auguries of Innocence”

 

800px-The_rabbit_hunt-_all_but_caught_LCCN2001703791

 

“A Dog starv’d at his Master’s Gate/ Predicts the ruin of the State.”

A Robin Redbreast in a Cage
Puts all Heaven in a Rage.
A dove house fill’d with doves and 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 fiber from the Brain does tear.

— excerpt from William Blake’s “Auguries of Innocence”

 

V0021840 A hunting dog sitting with a game bird in its mouth. Wood en

“The Tyger,” by William Blake

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize 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?

 

NPG 212; William Blake by Thomas Phillips

Portrait by Thomas Phillips, 1807