Songs Of Innocence And Songs Of Experience

William Blake

• Éditeur: HarperPerennial Classics
• Année: 2013
• ISBN:
  9781443433501
• Sujet: Littérature
• Sous-sujet: Poésie européenne

Songs of Innocence and Experience brings together two books of poetry by William Blake that delve into these two opposing states of the human soul. His Songs of Innocence are often cheerful and sweet and always demonstrate the purity of youth, as Blake explores themes of freedom, happiness, loss and religion. The optimism of innocence is keenly contrasted by Blake's Songs of Experience, which feature a more realistic and often darker view of the world.

Originally published as two books with pages illustrated by the author, Songs of Innocence and Experience has often been considered a foundational work in Romantic period literature which surely inspired poets like Coleridge, Keats, Shelley, Wordsworth and Byron in the years that followed.

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SONGS OF EXPERIENCE

INTRODUCTION

Hear the voice of the Bard,

Who present, past, and future, sees;

Whose ears have heard

The Holy Word

That walked among the ancient trees;

Calling the lapsed soul,

And weeping in the evening dew;

That might control

The starry pole,

And fallen, fallen light renew!

‘O Earth, O Earth, return!

Arise from out the dewy grass!

Night is worn,

And the morn

Rises from the slumbrous mass.

‘Turn away no more;

Why wilt thou turn away?

The starry floor,

The watery shore,

Is given thee till the break of day.’

EARTH’S ANSWER

Earth raised up her head

From the darkness dread and drear,

Her light fled,

Stony, dread,

And her locks covered with grey despair.

‘Prisoned on watery shore,

Starry jealousy does keep my den

Cold and hoar;

Weeping o’er,

I hear the father of the ancient men.

‘Selfish father of men!

Cruel, jealous, selfish fear!

Can delight,

Chained in night,

The virgins of youth and morning bear.

‘Does spring hide its joy,

When buds and blossoms grow?

Does the sower

Sow by night,

Or the ploughman in darkness plough?

‘Break this heavy chain,

That does freeze my bones around!

Selfish, vain,

Eternal bane,

That free love with bondage bound.’

THE CLOD AND THE PEBBLE

‘Love seeketh not itself to please,

Nor for itself hath any care,

But for another gives its ease,

And builds a heaven in hell’s despair.’

So sung a little clod of clay,

Trodden with the cattle’s feet,

But a pebble of the brook

Warbled out these metres meet:

‘Love seeketh only Self to please,

To bind another to its delight,

Joys in another’s loss of ease,

And builds a hell in heaven’s despite.’

HOLY THURSDAY

Is this a holy thing to see

In a rich and fruitful land,—

Babes reduced to misery,

Fed with cold and usurous hand?

Is that trembling cry a song?

Can it be a song of joy?

And so many children poor?

It is a land of poverty!

And their sun does never shine,

And their fields are bleak and bare,

And their ways are filled with thorns,

It is eternal winter there.

For where’er the sun does shine,

And where’er the rain does fall,

Babe can never hunger there,

Nor poverty the mind appal.

THE LITTLE GIRL LOST

In futurity

I prophesy

That the earth from sleep

(Grave the sentence deep)

Shall arise, and seek

For her Maker meek;

And the desert wild

Become a garden mild.

In the southern clime,

Where the summer’s prime

Never fades away,

Lovely Lyca lay.

Seven summers old

Lovely Lyca told.

She had wandered long,

Hearing wild birds’ song.

‘Sweet sleep, come to me,

Underneath this tree;

Do father, mother, weep?

Where can Lyca sleep?

‘Lost in desert wild

Is your little child.

How can Lyca sleep

If her mother weep?

‘If her heart does ache,

Then let Lyca wake;

If my mother sleep,

Lyca shall not weep.

‘Frowning, frowning night,

O’er this desert bright

Let thy moon arise,

While I close my eyes.’

Sleeping Lyca lay,

While the beasts of prey,

Come from caverns deep,

Viewed the maid asleep.

The kingly lion stood,

And the virgin viewed:

Then he gambolled round

O’er the hallowed ground.

Leopards, tigers, play

Round her as she lay;

While the lion old

Bowed his mane of gold,

And her bosom lick,

And upon her neck,

From his eyes of flame,

Ruby tears there came;

While the lioness

Loosed her slender dress,

And naked they conveyed

To caves the sleeping maid.

THE LITTLE GIRL FOUND

All the night in woe

Lyca’s parents go

Over valleys deep,

While the deserts weep.

Tired and woe-begone,

Hoarse with making moan,

Arm in arm, seven days

They traced the desert ways.

Seven nights they sleep

Among shadows deep,

And dream they see their child

Starved in...