William Blake Sweet Quotations

How sweet I roamed from field to field, and tasted all the summer's pride.

Children of the future age Reading this indignant page Know that in a former time Love, sweet love, was thought a crime

Ah, sunflower, weary of time, Who countest the steps of the sun, Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveller's journey is done; Where the youth pined away with desire And the pale virgin shrouded in snow Arise from their graves, and aspire Where my sunflower wishes to go.

Come live, and be merry, and join with me, To sing the sweet chorus of 'Ha ha he!

Sweet babe, in thy face Soft desires I can trace, Secret joys and secret smiles, Little pretty infant wiles.

Every Night and every Morn Some to Misery are born. Every Morn and every Night Some are born to Sweet Delight, Some are born to Endless Night.

How sweet I roamed from field to field, And tasted all the summer's pride, Till I the prince of love beheld, Who in the sunny beams did glide!

I thought Love lived in the hot sunshine, But O, he lives in the moony light! I thought to find Love in the heat of day, But sweet Love is the comforter of night.

I thought Love lived in the hot sunshine,But O, he lives in the moony light!I thought to find Love in the heat of day,But sweet Love is the comforter of night.

Children of the future AgeReading this indignant page,Know that in a former timeLove! sweet Love! was thought a crime.

Love seeketh not itself to please, but for another gives its ease.

Every Night and every MornSome to Misery are born.Every Morn and every NightSome are born to Sweet Delight,Some are born to Endless Night.

I have no name: I am but two days old. What shall I call thee? I happy am, Joy is my name. Sweet joy befall thee!

The soul of sweet delight, can never be defiled.

Some are born to sweet delight, Some are born to endless night.

I went to the Garden of Love, And saw what I never had seen: A Chapel was built in the midst, Where I used to play on the green. And the gates of this Chapel were shut, And 'Thou shalt not' writ over the door; So I turn'd to the Garden of Love, That so many sweet flowers bore. And I saw it was filled with graves, And tomb-stones where flowers should be: And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds, And binding with briars, my joys & desires.