1. Madness Inspired

The wild winds weep,
And the night is a-cold;
Come hither, Sleep,
And my griefs unfold:
But lo! the morning peeps
Over the eastern steeps.
And the rustling beds of dawn
The earth do scorn

Lo! to the vault
Of paved heaven,
With sorrow fraught
My notes are driven:
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 increas'd:
For light doth seize my brain
With frantic pain

2. In A Mirtle Shade

Why should I be bound to thee,
О my lovely mirtle tree?

Love, free love, cannot be bound
to any tree that grows on ground

Oh how sick and weary I
underneath my mirtle lie.
like the dung upon the ground,
underneath my mirtle bound

Oft my mirtle signed in vain,
to behold my heavy chain
Oft my father saw us sigh,
and laughed at our simplicity

So I smote him. and his gore
stained the roots my mirtle bore;
but the time of youth is fled,
and grey hairs are on my head

Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead
The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom

3. 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, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and 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?

4. 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

Leave. О leave me to my sorrows;
Here I'll sit and fade away.

Till I'm nothing but a spirit,
And I lose this form of clay

Then if chance along this forest
Any walk in pathless ways.

Thro' the gloom he'll see my shadow
Hear my voice upon the breeze

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 thro' Nature to find this tree:
But their search was all in vain:
There grows one in the Human brain

5. Divine Image

Muddy glass of soul every day darker
Soon it will turn into a wall. Break it if you can
But of what use are splinters of a greasy glass?
Of them you won't collect a picture
To leave things as they are. to underrate
and despite all
This way is easier, but it's not an exit
Do not admit alienation,
keep its reasons beside surface
If you will dive in abyss.
light of day no more you're gonna see
At the bottom rest you will find.
but do you really want it
Or you want confusions? Think about this
Unworthy to hide head in the sand,
After all things get only worse
Better take the blow, take it here and now
What does not kill you, makes you stronger

6. Crystal Cabinet

The Maiden caught me in the wild.
Where I was dancing merrily;
She put me into her Cabinet.
And lock'd me up with a golden key.

This Cabinet is form'd of gold
And pearl and crystal shining bright.
And within it opens into a world
And a little lovely moony night

Another Maiden like herself.
Translucent, lovely, shining clear.
Threefold each in the other clos'd –
0, what a pleasant trembling fear!

A weeping Babe upon the wild,
And weeping Woman pale reclin'd.
And in the outward air again
I fill'd with woes the passing wind

7. The Fly

Little Fly,
Thy summer's play
My thoughtless hand
Has brush'd away

Am not I
A fly like thee?

Or art not thou
A man like me?

For I dance,
And drink, and 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 I
A happy fly.

If I live
Or if I die