Page:Life of William Blake, Pictor ignotus (Volume 2).djvu/24

Rh

wild winds weep, And the night is a-cold; Come hither, Sleep, And my griefs unfold! But lo! the Morning peeps Over the eastern steeps, And rustling birds of dawn The earth do scorn.

Lo! to the vault Of paved heaven, With sorrow fraught, My notes are driven: They strike the ear of night, Make weep the eyes of day; They make mad the roaring winds, And with tempests play.

Like a fiend in a cloud, With howling woe After night I do crowd, And with night will go; I turn my back to the East Whence comforts have increas'd; For light doth seize my brain With frantic pain.