Auguries of Innocence
To see a
World in a Grain of Sand
And a
Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity
in the palm of your hand
And
Eternity in an hour.
A Robin Red
breast in a Cage
Puts all
Heaven in a Rage.
A dove
house fill'd with doves & 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 fibre
from the brain does tear.
A Skylark
wounded in the wing,
A Cherubim
does cease to sing.
The Game
Cock clip'd & arm'd for fight
Does the
Rising Sun affright.
Every Wolf's
and Lion's howl
Raises from
Hell a Human Soul.
The wild
deer, wand'ring here & there,
Keeps the
Human Soul from Care.
The Lamb
misus'd breeds Public strife
And yet
forgives the Butcher's Knife.
The Bat
that flits at close of Eve
Has left
the Brain that won't Believe.
The Owl
that calls upon the Night
Speaks the
Unbeliever's fright.
He who
shall hurt the little Wren
Shall never
be belov'd by Men.
He who the
Ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never
be by Woman lov'd.
The wanton
Boy that kills the Fly
Shall feel
the Spider's enmity.
He who
torments the Chafer's sprite
Weaves a
Bower in endless Night.
The
Catterpiller on the Leaf
Repeats to
thee thy Mother's Grief.
Kill not
the Moth nor Butterfly,
For the
Last Judgment draweth nigh.
He who shall
train the Horse to War
Shall never
pass the Polar Bar.
The Begger's
Dog and Widow's Cat,
Feed them
& thou wilt grow fat.
The Gnat
that sings his Summer's song
Poison gets
from Slander's tongue.
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 & Beggar's Rags
Are
Toadstools on the Miser's 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.
The Babe is
more than swadling Bands;
Throughout
all these Human Lands
Tools were
made, & Born were hands,
Every
Farmer Understands.
Every Tear
from Every Eye
Becomes a
Babe in Eternity;
This is
caught by Females bright
And return'd
to its own delight.
The Bleat,
the Bark, Bellow & Roar
Are Waves
that Beat on Heaven's Shore.
The Babe
that weeps the Rod beneath
Writes
Revenge in realms of death.
The Beggar's
Rags, fluttering in Air,
Does to
Rags the Heavens tear.
The
Soldier, arm'd with Sword & Gun,
Palsied
strikes the summer's Sun.
The poor
man's Farthing is worth more
Than all
the Gold on Afric's Shore.
One Mite
wrung from the Labrer's hands
Shall buy
& sell the Miser's Lands:
Or, if
protected from on high,
Does that
whole Nation sell & buy.
He who
mocks the Infant's Faith
Shall be
mock'd in Age & Death.
He who shall
teach the Child to Doubt
The rotting
Grave shall ne'er get out.
He who
respects the Infant's faith
Triumphs
over Hell & Death.
The Child's
Toys & the Old Man's Reasons
Are the
Fruits of the Two seasons.
The
Questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never
know how to Reply.
He who
replies to words of Doubt
Doth put
the Light of Knowledge out.
The
Strongest Poison ever known
Came from
Caesar's Laurel Crown.
Nought can
deform the Human Race
Like to the
Armour's iron brace.
When Gold
& Gems adorn the Plow
To peaceful
Arts shall Envy Bow.
A Riddle or
the Cricket's Cry
Is to Doubt
a fit Reply.
The Emmet's
Inch & Eagle's Mile
Make Lame
Philosophy to smile.
He who
Doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er
Believe, do what you Please.
If the Sun
& Moon should doubt,
They'd immediately
Go out.
To be in a
Passion you Good may do,
But no good
if a Passion is in you.
The Whore
& Gambler, by the State
Licenc'd,
build that Nation's Fate.
The Harlot's
cry from Street to Street
Shall weave
Old England's winding Sheet.
The Winner's
Shout, the Loser's Curse,
Dance
before dead England's Hearse.
Every Night
& every Morn
Some to
Misery are Born.
Every Morn
& every Night
Some are
born to sweet delight.
Some are
born to sweet delight,
Some are
born to Endless Night.
We are led
to Believe a Lie
When we see
not Thro' the Eye
Which was
Born in a Night to perish in a Night
When the
Soul Slept in Beams of Light.
God appears
and God is Light
To those
poor Souls who dwell in Night,
But does a
Human Form Display
To those
who Dwell in Realms of day.