Night Morning With My Tears example essay topic

... ot itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care; But for another gives its ease, And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair. So sung a little Clod of Clay, Trodden with the cattle's feet, But a Pebble of the brook Warbled out these metre's meet: Love seek eth only Self to please, To bind another to its delight; Joys in another's loss of ease, And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite. ' Holy Thursday Is this a holy thing to see, In a rich and fruitful land, Babes reduced to misery, Fed with cold and usurious 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 & bare, And their ways are fill'd with thorns: It is eternal winter there. For where-e'er the sun does shine, And where-e'er the rain does fall, Babe can never hunger there, Nor poverty the mind appeal. The Little Girl Lost In futurity I prophetic see That the earth from sleep (Grave the sentence deep) Shall arise and seek For her maker meek: And the desert wild Become a garden mild.

In the southern clime Where the summer's prime Never fades away, Lovely Lyca lay. Seven summers old Lovely Lyca told; She had wander'd long, Hearing wild birds's ong. Sweet sleep come to me Underneath this tree; Do father, mother weep -'Where can Lyca sleep?' Lost in desert wild Is your little child: How can Lyca sleep If her mother weep? If her heart does ake, Then let Lyca wake; If my mother sleep Lyca shall not weep. Frowning frowning night, O'er this desert bright Let thy moon arise, While I close my eyes.

Sleeping Lyca lay; While the beasts of prey Come from caverns deep, View'd the maid asleep. The kingly lion stood And the virgin view'd, Then he gambol'd round " er the hallow'd ground: Leopards, tigers play Round her as she lay; While the lion old Bow'd his mane of gold, And her bosom lick, And upon her neck From his eyes of flame Ruby tears there came; While the lioness Loos'd her slender dress, And naked they convey " dTo caves the sleeping maid. The Little Girl Found All the night in woeLyca's parents go: Over vs. allies deep, While the deserts weep. Tired and woe-begone, Hoarse with making moan: Arm in arm seven days They track'd the desert ways.

Seven nights they sleep Among shadows deep: And dream they see their childStarv'd in desert wild. Pale throw' pathless ways The fancied image strays, Famish'd, weeping, weak With hollow piteous shriek. Rising from unrest, The trembling woman prestwich feet of weary woe; She could no further go. In his arms he bore Her, arm'd with sorrow sore; Till before their ways couching lion lay. Turning back was vain, Soon his heavy mane Bore them to the ground, Then he stalk'd around, Smelling to his prey, But their fears allay, When he licks their hands; And silent by them stands. They look upon his eyes Filled with deep surprise: And wondering behold A spirit arm'd in gold, On his head a crown, On his shoulders down Flow'd his golden hair; Gone is all their care.

Follow me, he said, Weep not for the maid; In my palace deepLy ca lies asleep. Then they followed Where the vision led: And saw their sleeping child Among tigers wild. To this day they dwell In a lonely dell, Nor fear the wolfish howl, Nor the lion's growl. The Chimney Sweeper A little black thing among the snow Crying 'weep 'weep! in notes of woe: Where are thy father & mother? say?

They are both gone up to the church to pray. Because I was happy upon the heath, And smile'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, & dance & sing They think they have done me no injury: And are gone to praise God and his Priest & King, Who make up a heaven of our misery. Nurse's Song When the voices of children are heard on the green And whip " rings are in the dale, The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind, My face turns green and pale. Then come home my children, the sun is gone down, And the dews of night arise: Your spring & your day are wasted in play And your winter and night in disguise.

The Sick Rose O Rose, thou art sick; The invisible worm That flies in the night In the howling storm: Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy; And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy. The Fly Little Fly, Thy summer's play My thoughtless hand Has brush'd away. Am not IA fly like thee? Or art not thou man like me? For I dance And drink & sing, Till some blind hand Shall brush my wing. If thought is life And strength and breath; And the want Of thought is death; Then am IA happy fly, If I live, Or if I die.

The Angel I Dreamt a Dream! what can it mean? And that I was a maiden Queen Guarded by an Angel mild; Witless woe was ne " er beguile'd! And I wept both night and day And he win'd my tears away, And I wept both day and night And hid from him my heart's delight. So he took his wings and fled: Then the morn blush'd rosy red: I dried my tears & arm'd my fears With ten thousand shields and spears. Soon my Angel came again: I was arm'd, he came in vain: For the time of youth was fled And grey hairs were on my head.

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 seize 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 water'd 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? My Pretty Rose Tree A flower was offer'd to me; Such a flower as May never bore; But I said, I've a Pretty Rose-tree, And I passed the sweet flower o'er. Then I went to my Pretty Rose-tree; To tend her by day and by night; But my Rose turned away with jealousy: And her thorns were my only delight. Ah, Sun-flower Ah Sun-flower! weary of time Who count est the steps of the Sun; Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveller's journey is done, Where the Youth pined away with desire, And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow; Arise from their graves and aspire Where my Sun-flower wishes to go. The Lilly The modest Rose puts forth a thorn: The humble Sheep, a threat " nine horn: While the Lily white shall in Love delight, Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.

The Garden of Love I went to the Garden of Love, And saw what I never had seen: A Chapel was built in the midst, Where I used to play on the green. And the gates of this Chapel were shut, And Thou shalt not writ over the door; So I turn'd to the Garden of Love That so many sweet flowers bore, And I saw it was filled with graves, And tomb-stones where flowers should be: And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds, And binding with briars my joys & desires. The Little Vagabond Dear Mother, dear Mother, the Church is cold; But the Ale-house is healthy & pleasant & warm; Besides I can tell where I am used well; Such usage in heaven will never do well. But if at the Church they would give us some Ale, And a pleasant fire, our souls to regale; We'd sing and we'd pray all the live-long day, Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray, Then the Parson might preach & drink & sing, And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring: And modest dame Lurch, who is always at church, Would not have bandy children nor fasting nor birch. And God like a father rejoicing to see His children as pleasant and happy as he: Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the Barrel But kiss him & give him both drink and apparel. London I wander throw' each charter'd street, Near where the charter'd Thames does flow, A 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-for'd manacles I hear. How the Chimney-sweeper's cry Every black " nine Church appalls, And the hapless Soldier's sigh Runs in blood down Palace walls: But most throw' midnight streets I hear How the youthful Harlot's curse Blasts the new-born Infant's tear, And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse. The Human Abstract Pity would be no more If we did not make somebody Poor; And Mercy no more could be If all were as happy as we: And mutual fear brings peace, Till the selfish loves increase, Then Cruelty knits a snare, And spreads his baits with care. He sits down with holy fears, And waters the ground with tears Then Humility takes its root Underneath his foot. Soon spreads the dismal shade Of Mystery over his head; And the Caterpillar and Fly Feed on the Mystery. And it bears the fruit of Deceit, Ruddy and sweet to eat; And the Raven his nest has made In its thickest shade.

The Gods of the earth and sea Sought throw' Nature to find this Tree: But their search was all in vain: There grows one in the Human Brain. Infant Sorrow My mother groan'd! my father wept, Into the dangerous world I leapt: Helpless, naked, piping loud; Like a fiend hid in a cloud. Struggling in my father's hands, Striving against my swaddling bands; Bound and weary I thought best To sulk upon my mother's breast. A Poison Tree 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 water'd it in fears, Night & 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 veil'd the pole: In the morning glad I see My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree. A Little Boy Lost Nought loves another as itself Nor venerates another so, Nor is it possible to Thought greater than itself to know: And Father, how can I love you, Or any of my brothers more? I love you like the little bird That picks up crumbs around the door. The Priest sat by and heard the child, In trembling zeal he seize'd his hair: He led him by his little coat; And all admit'd the Priestly care. And standing on the altar high, Lo, what a fiend is here! said he: One who sets reason up for judge Of our most holy Mystery. The weeping child could not be heard, The weeping parents wept in vain: They strip'd him to his little shirt, And bound him in an iron chain, And burn'd him in a holy place, Where many had been burn'd before: The weeping parents wept in vain, Are such things done on Albion's shore?

A Little Girl Lost Children of the future Age, Reading this indignant page: Know that in a former time Love! sweet Love! was thought a crime. In the Age of gold, Free from winter's cold; Youth and maiden bright, To the holy light Naked in the sunny beams delight. Once a youthful pair Fill'd with softest care, Met in garden bright, Where the holy light Had just remove'd the curtains of the night. There in rising day, On the grass they play: Parents were afar, Strangers came not near, And the maiden soon forgot her fear. Tired with kisses sweet They agree to meet, When the silent sleep Waves o'er heaven's deep; And the weary tired wanderers weep.

To her father white Came the maiden bright; But his loving look, Like the holy book All her tender limbs with terror shook. Ona! pale and weak! To thy father speak! O the trembling fear! O the dismal care! That shakes the blossoms of my hoary hair!' To TirzahWhate " er is born of mortal birth Must be consumed with the Earth To rise from Generation free; Then what have I to do with thee?

The Sexes sprung in Shame & Pride, Blow'd in the morn: in evening died: But Mercy chang'd Death into Sleep; The Sexes rose to work and weep. Thou Mother of my Mortal Part With cruelty didst mould my Heart And with false self-deceiving tears Didst bind my Nostrils, Eyes & Ears, Didst close my Tongue in senseless clay And me to Mortal Life betray: The death of Jesus set me free; Then what have I to do with thee? The Schoolboy I love to rise in a summer morn, When the birds sing on every tree; The distant huntsman winds his horn, And the skylark sings with me. O! what sweet company. But to go to school in a summer morn! it drives all joy away: Under a cruel eye outworn, The little ones spend the day, In sighing and dismay. Ah! then at times I drooping sit, And spend many an anxious hour.

Nor in my book can I take delight, Nor sit in learning's bower, Worn throw with the dreary shower. How can the bird that is born for joy Sit in a cage and sing? How can a child when fears annoy But droop his tender wing And forget his youthful spring? O! father & mother, if buds are nip'd, And blossoms blown away, And if the tender plants are strip " dOf their joy in the springing day By sorrow and care's dismay, How shall the summer arise in joy Or the summer fruits appear Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy Or bless the mellowing year, When the blasts of winter appear? A Divine Image Cruelty has a Human Heart And Jealousy a Human Face: Terror the Human Form Divine And Secrecy the human dress.

The Human Dress is forged Iron, The Human Form, a fiery Forge, The Human Face, a Furnace seal'd, The Human Heart, its hungry Gorge. The Voice of the Ancient Bard Youth of delight, come hither: And see the opening morn, Image of truth new-born: Doubt is fled & clouds of reason, Dark disputes & artful tea zing. Folly is an endless maze, Tangled roots perplex her ways, How many have fallen there! They stumble all night over bones of the dead; And feel they know not what but care; And wish to lead others when they should be led.