The Letters of William Blake: Together with a Life, Volume 1Methuen, 1906 - 237 pages The letters of William Blake are collected in this volume. The text also features biographical information and illustrations by Blake. |
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Common terms and phrases
admired affectionate angels Archibald Stirling artist Ballads beautiful brother called colour copy cottage Cowper Dante dear Sir DEAR SIR,-I death designs desire Divine doubt drawing earth Eartham East Dereham edition engraved by Blake engraving eternal executed eyes fear Felpham finished Fuseli genius GEORGE CUMBERLAND Gilchrist 1880 give Graham Robertson guineas Hampstead hand happy Hayley's hear Heaven hope imagination Jerusalem JOHN FLAXMAN JOHN LINNell kind labour Last Judgment letter live London Michael Angelo Milton Miss Poole morning never Ozias Humphrey painter painting Paradise Lost Phillips plates pleasure poem portrait possession Pray present printed published Raphael remain Romney Romney's Seagrave seen sent Shipwreck sincerely sketch Songs soon SOUTH MOLTON SOUTH MOLTON STREET spirit Tatham tell thank thee things THOMAS BUTTS thought tion vision water-colour WILLIAM BLAKE William Cowper WILLIAM HAYLEY wish write
Popular passages
Page 43 - Little lamb, who made thee ? Dost thou know who made thee ? Little lamb, Til tell thee, Little lamb, I'll tell thee. He is called by thy name, For He calls himself a Lamb : He is meek and He is mild, He became a little child.
Page 41 - I wander thro' each charter'd street Near where the charter'd Thames does flow, And mark in every face I meet Marks of weakness, marks of woe. In every cry of every Man, In every Infant's cry of fear, In every voice, in every ban, The mind-forg'd manacles I hear: How the Chimney-sweeper's cry Every black'ning Church appalls, And the hapless Soldier's sigh Runs in blood down Palace walls; But most thro' midnight streets I hear How the youthful Harlot's curse Blasts the new born Infant's tear.
Page 9 - He led me through his gardens fair, Where all his golden pleasures grow. With sweet May dews my wings were wet, And Phoebus fired my vocal rage; He caught me in his silken net, And shut me in his golden cage. He loves to sit and hear me sing; Then, laughing, sports and plays with me; Then stretches out my golden wing, And mocks my loss of liberty.
Page 22 - In yon bright track that fires the western skies They melt, they vanish from my eyes. But oh ! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll? Visions of glory, spare my aching sight, Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
Page 59 - He who would do good to another must do it in Minute Particulars. General Good is the plea of the Scoundrel, hypocrite, and flatterer...
Page 62 - Some Scarce see Nature at all But to the Eyes of the Man of Imagination Nature is Imagination itself. As a man is So he Sees. As the Eye is formed such are its Powers You certainly Mistake when you say that the Visions of Fancy are not to be found in This World. To Me This World is all One continued Vision of Fancy or Imagination & I feel Flatterd when I am told So.
Page 43 - THE LAMB LITTLE Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Gave thee life, and bid thee feed, By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice? Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Little Lamb, I'll tell thee, Little Lamb, I'll tell thee: He is called by thy name, For He calls Himself a Lamb.
Page 121 - I may praise it, since I dare not pretend to be any other than the Secretary; the Authors are in Eternity.
Page 72 - Any man of mechanical talents may, from the writings of Paracelsus or Jacob Behmen, produce ten thousand volumes of equal value with Swedenborg's, and from those of Dante or Shakespear an infinite number.
Page 10 - ... with mine And our roots together join. Joys upon our branches sit Chirping loud and singing sweet ; Like gentle streams beneath our feet Innocence and virtue meet. Thou the golden fruit dost bear, I am clad in flowers fair ; Thy sweet boughs perfume the air, And the turtle buildeth there. There she sits and feeds her young, Sweet I hear her mournful song ; And thy lovely leaves among There is love ; I hear his tongue.