Life of William Blake, "pictor Ignotus", with Selections from His Poems and Other Writings, Том 1

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Сторінка 126 - With thee conversing I forget all time ; All seasons and their change, all please alike. Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun, When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower...
Сторінка 201 - And did those feet in ancient time Walk upon England's mountains green? And was the holy Lamb of God On England's pleasant pastures seen? And did the Countenance Divine Shine forth upon our clouded hills? And was Jerusalem builded here Among these dark Satanic Mills? Bring me my Bow of burning gold : Bring me my Arrows of desire : Bring me my Spear : O clouds unfold ! Bring me my Chariot of fire. I will not cease from Mental Fight, Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand Till we have built Jerusalem...
Сторінка 87 - Without Contraries is no progression. Attraction and Repulsion, Reason and Energy, Love and Hate, are necessary to Human existence. ' From these Contraries spring what the religious call Good and Evil. Good is the passive that obeys Reason. ' Evil is the active springing from Energy. ' Good is Heaven. Evil is Hell.
Сторінка 291 - Then came there unto him all his brethren, and all his sisters, and all they that had been of his acquaintance before, and did eat bread with him in his house ; and they bemoaned him, and comforted him over all the evil that the Lord had brought upon him: every man also gave him a piece of money, and every one an earring of gold.
Сторінка 192 - He who would do good to another must do it in Minute Particulars. General Good is the plea of the Scoundrel, hypocrite, and flatterer...
Сторінка 91 - If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, infinite. For man has closed himself up till he sees all things thro
Сторінка 90 - Truth can never be told so as to be understood, and not be believ'd...
Сторінка 88 - The roaring of lions, the howling of wolves, the raging of the stormy sea, and the destructive sword, are portions of eternity too great for the eye of man.
Сторінка 17 - He led me through his gardens fair, Where all his golden pleasures grow. With sweet May dews my wings were wet, And Phoebus fired my vocal rage; He caught me in his silken net, And shut me in his golden cage. He loves to sit and hear me sing; Then, laughing, sports and plays with me; Then stretches out my golden wing, And mocks my loss of liberty.
Сторінка x - What? - it will be questioned — when the Sun rises do you not see a round Disk of fire somewhat like a guinea? О no, no, I see an innumerable company of the Heavenly Host crying: Holy Holy Holy is the Lord God Almighty...

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