I went for a walk this afternoon with Salem. I usually head out to our local thrift store and check out the used books. I picked up a collection of poems and prose by William Blake. On my way back I often to stop at an area that has lots of shade and grass for Salem to crawl around on. Before I knew it I realized that I was reading William Blake aloud to my 11 month old in a cemetery. Pray for the boy . . .
A couple of excerpts from Blake though,
The Clod and the Pebble
“Love seeketh not Itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a Heaven in Hell’s despair.”
So sang a little Clod of Clay,
Trodden with the cattle’s feet,
But a Pebble of the brook
Warbled out these metres meet:
“Love seeketh 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.”
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 “Though shalt not” writ over the door;
So I turned to the Garden of Love,
That so many sweet flowers bore,
And I saw it was filled with graves
And tombstones where flowers should be;
And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds
And binding with briars my joys and desires.
I am slowly re-entering some poetic works but I find I need quite simple rhythm to feel like I am engaging them. I know it is likely my inability or impatience that keeps me from further exploration but for now pieces like this are very satisfying.