INFANT JOY

'I HAVE no name:

I am but two days old.'
What shall I call thee?
'I happy am,

Joy is my name,'

Sweet joy befall thee!

Pretty Joy!

Sweet Joy, but two days old.

Sweet Joy I call thee:
Thou dost smile,

I sing the while,

Sweet joy befall thee!

William Blake

LAUGHING SONG

WHEN the green woods laugh with the voice of joy,
And the dimpling stream runs laughing by;
When the air does laugh with our merry wit,
And the green hill laughs with the noise of it;

When the meadows laugh with lively green,
And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene;
When Mary and Susan and Emily

With their sweet round mouths sing, 'Ha, ha, hel'

When the painted birds laugh in the shade,
Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread,
Come live, and be merry, and join with me,
To sing the sweet chorus of 'Ha, ha, he!'

William Blake

NURSE'S SONG

WHEN the voices of children are heard on the green,
And laughing is heard on the hill,

My heart is at rest within my breast,
And everything else is still.

"Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,

And the dews of night arise;

Come, come, leave off play, and let us away

Till the morning appears in the skies.'

'No, no, let us play, for it is yet day,

And we cannot go to sleep;

Besides, in the sky the little birds fly,

And the hills are all cover'd with sheep.'

'Well, well, go and play till the light fades away, And then go home to bed.'

The little ones leapèd, and shouted, and laugh'd, And all the hills echoèd.

William Blake

THE SHEPHERD

HOW sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot!
From the morn to the evening he strays;
He shall follow his sheep all the day,
And his tongue shall be filled with praise.

For he hears the lamb's innocent call,
And he hears the ewe's tender reply;
He is watchful while they are in peace,
For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.
William Blake

NURSE'S SONG

WHEN the voices of children are heard on the green,
And laughing is heard on the hill,

My heart is at rest within my breast,
And everything else is still.

"Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,

And the dews of night arise;

Come, come, leave off play, and let us away

Till the morning appears in the skies.'

'No, no, let us play, for it is yet day,

And we cannot go to sleep;

Besides, in the sky the little birds fly,

And the hills are all cover'd with sheep.'

'Well, well, go and play till the light fades away, And then go home to bed.'

The little ones leapèd, and shouted, and laugh'd, And all the hills echoèd.

William Blake