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WILLIAM BLAKE  
(1757-1827)
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“Ten thousand spears are like the summer grass…”
            --Williams Blake

 

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 teasing.
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.

(1789)

 

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Last Updated: Tue, June 27, 2006
©2006 John Struloeff -- All Rights Reserved.