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William Blake (1757–1827). The Poetical Works. 1908.

Poetical Sketches

Song: When early morn walks forth in sober grey

WHEN early morn walks forth in sober grey,

Then to my black-eyed maid I haste away;

When evening sits beneath her dusky bow’r,

And gently sighs away the silent hour,

The village bell alarms, away I go,

And the vale darkens at my pensive woe.

To that sweet village, where my black-eyed maid

Doth drop a tear beneath the silent shade,

I turn my eyes; and pensive as I go

Curse my black stars and bless my pleasing woe.

Oft when the summer sleeps among the trees,

Whisp’ring faint murmurs to the scanty breeze,

I walk the village round; if at her side

A youth doth walk in stolen joy and pride,

I curse my stars in bitter grief and woe,

That made my love so high and me so low.

O should she e’er prove false, his limbs I’d tear

And throw all pity on the burning air;

I’d curse bright fortune for my mixèd lot,

And then I’d die in peace and be forgot.