WILLIAM BLAKE …Poetry….  Sort into the “Songs of Innocence” and “Songs of Experience”  Write a one to two sentence summary of each poem.  William Blake.

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Presentation transcript:

WILLIAM BLAKE …Poetry…

 Sort into the “Songs of Innocence” and “Songs of Experience”  Write a one to two sentence summary of each poem.  William Blake was not only a poet, but he was also an artist. He made engravings. Several of his engravings are attached throughout the show.

“The Lamb”  Little Lamb, who made thee?  Dost thou know who made thee?  Gave thee life, and bid thee feed  By the stream and o'er the mead;  Gave thee clothing of delight,  Softest clothing, woolly, bright;  Gave thee such a tender voice,  Making all the vales rejoice?  Little Lamb, who made thee?  Dost thou know who made thee?  Little Lamb, I'll tell thee,  Little Lamb, I'll tell thee:  He is called by thy name,  For he calls himself a Lamb.  He is meek, and he is mild;  He became a little child.  I a child, and thou a lamb.  We are called by his name.  Little Lamb, God bless thee!

The Tyger  Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare sieze the fire?  And what shoulder, & what art. Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet?  What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp?  When the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?  Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Archetype  Universal symbol for something  Lamb – innocence (cute, fluffy, bahhhh, meek)  Tiger – Fear (teeth, roar, strength, claws, diet)  Why would Blake have chosen this pair of archetypes for these poems?

 Some poems have the same titles, but they are found in different collections.

“Holy Thursday”  ‘Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean, The children walking two and two, in red and blue and green, Grey headed beadles walk’d before, with wands as white as snow, Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames’ waters flow. Oh what a multitude they seem’d, these flowers of London town! Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own. The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs, Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands. Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song, Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of Heaven among. Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor; Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.

“Holy Thursday”  Is this a holy thing to see In a rich and fruitful land, Babes reduced to misery, Fed with cold and usurous hand?  Is that trembling cry a song? Can it be a song of joy? And so many children poor? It is a land of poverty!  And their sun does never shine, And their fields are bleak and bare, And their ways are filled with thorns: It is eternal winter there.  For where'er the sun does shine, And where'er the rain does fall, Babes should never hunger there, Nor poverty the mind appall.

“The Chimney Sweeper”  A little black thing among the snow,  Crying "weep! 'weep!" in notes of woe!  "Where are thy father and mother? say?"  "They are both gone up to the church to pray.  Because I was happy upon the heath,  And smil'd among the winter's snow,  They clothed me in the clothes of death,  And taught me to sing the notes of woe.  And because I am happy and dance and sing,  They think they have done me no injury,  And are gone to praise God and his Priest and King,  Who make up a heaven of our misery."

“The Chimney Sweeper”  When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep. There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head, That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved: so I said, "Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare, You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair." And so he was quiet; and that very night, As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight, - That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack, Were all of them locked up in coffins of black.12. And by came an angel who had a bright key, And he opened the coffins and set them all free; Then down a green plain leaping, laughing, they run, And wash in a river, and shine in the sun. Then naked and white, all their bags left behind, They rise upon clouds and sport in the wind; And the angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy, He'd have God for his father, and never want joy. And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark, And got with our bags and our brushes to work. Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm; So if all do their duty they need not fear harm.

“London”  I wander thro' each charter'd street,  Near where the charter'd Thames does flow,  And mark in every face I meet  Marks of weakness, marks of woe.  In every cry of every Man,  In every Infant's cry of fear,  In every voice, in every ban,  The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.  How the Chimney-sweeper's cry  Every black'ning Church appalls;  And the hapless Soldier's sigh  Runs in blood down Palace walls.  But most thro' midnight streets I hear  How the youthful Harlot's curse  Blasts the new born Infant's tear,  And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.

“A Poison Tree”  I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow. And I watered it in fears Night and morning with my tears, And I sunned it with smiles And with soft deceitful wiles. And it grew both day and night, Till it bore an apple bright, And my foe beheld it shine, And he knew that it was mine - And into my garden stole When the night had veiled the pole; In the morning, glad, I see My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

Dante’s Inferno Engravings