Page:The Poems of William Blake (Shepherd, 1887).djvu/40

 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 From whence comforts have increased; For light doth seize my brain With frantic pain.

SONG. RESH from the dewy hill, the merry year Smiles on my head and mounts his flaming car; Round my young brows the laurel wreathes a shade And rising glories beam around my head. My feet are wing'd while o'er the dewy lawn I meet my maiden risen like the morn: Oh bless those holy feet, like angels' feet; Oh bless those limbs, beaming with heavenly light!