The little ones leaped, and shouted, and laugh'd And all the hills echoed — William Blake Copy Share Image
O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down Thro' the clear windows of the morning, turn Thine angel eyes upon our western… — William Blake Copy Share Image
The fields from Islington to Marybone, To Primrose Hill and Saint John's Wood, Were builded over with pillars of gold; And there… — William Blake Copy Share Image
“And did those feet in ancient time Walk upon England's mountains green? And was the holy Lamb of God On England's pleasant… — William Blake Copy Share Image
Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste Thy morn and evening breath; scatter… — William Blake Copy Share Image
When the voices of children are heard on the greenAnd laughing is heard on the hill,My heart is at rest within my… — William Blake Copy Share Image
Where others see but the dawn coming over the hill, I see the soul of God shouting for joy. — William Blake Copy Share Image
Poetry fettered, fetters the human race. Nations are destroyed or flourish in proportion as their poetry, painting, and music are destroyed or flourish. — William Blake Copy Share
The world of imagination is the world of eternity. It is the divine bosom into which we shall all go after death of the… — William Blake Copy Share
Imagination is the real and eternal world of which this vegetable universe is but a faint shadow. — William Blake Copy Share
Time is the mercy of Eternity; without Time's swiftness Which is the swiftest of all things, all were eternal torment. — William Blake Copy Share
The difference between a bad artist and a good one is: the bad artist seems to copy a great deal; the good one really… — William Blake Copy Share
Cruelty has a human heart, and jealousy a human face. Terror, the human form divine, And secrecy, the human dress. — William Blake Copy Share
Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained; and the restrainer or reason usurps its place & governs… — William Blake Copy Share
THE POISON TREE I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe; I… — William Blake Copy Share
