Page:The Poems of William Blake (Shepherd, 1887).djvu/41

 Like as an angel glittering in the sky In times of innocence and holy joy; The joyful shepherd stops his grateful song To hear the music of an angel's tongue. So when she speaks, the voice of Heaven I hear; So when we walk, nothing impure comes near; Each field seems Eden, and each calm retreat; Each village seems the haunt of holy feet. But that sweet village, where my black-eyed maid Closes her eyes in sleep beneath night's shade, Whene'er I enter, more than mortal fire Burns in my soul, and does my song inspire.

SONG. HEN early morn walks forth in sober gray, Then to my black-eyed maid I haste away, When evening sits beneath her dusky bower 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.