Homework:
Poems
Of
Wordsworth
(bio & poems
except:
“Tintern Abbey”
The Poems
Of
William
Blake
“I know that this world is a world of imagination and vision.”
let’s watch a little movie I made…
I need two volunteers…
The Lamb (from Songs of Innocence)
Little Lamb, who made thee
Does thou know who made thee
Gave thee life & bid thee feed.
By the stream & o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing woolly bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice.
Making all the vales rejoice:
Little Lamb who made thee
Does thou know who made thee
The Lamb (from Songs of Innocence)
Little Lamb, who made thee
Does thou know who made thee
Gave thee life & bid thee feed.
By the stream & o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing woolly bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice.
Making all the vales rejoice:
Little Lamb who made thee
Does thou know who made thee
Little Lamb I'll tell thee,
Little Lamb I'll tell thee;
He is called by thy name,
For he calls himself a Lamb:
He is meek & he is mild,
He became a little child
I a child & thou a lamb,
We are called by His name,
Little Lamb God bless thee,
Little Lamb God bless thee.
The Tyger (from Songs Of Experience)
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 sieze 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 watered 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?
A Poison Tree
I 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 waterd 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 veild the pole;
In the morning glad I see;
My foe outstretched beneath the
tree.
London
1 I wander thro' each charter'd street,
does flow,
3 And mark in every face I meet
4 Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
5 In every cry of every Man,
6 In every Infant's cry of fear,
7 In every voice, in every ban,
8 The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.
The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of Hell, a hell of Heaven.
9 How the Chimney-sweeper's cry
10 Every black'ning Church appalls;
11 And the hapless Soldier's sigh
12 Runs in blood down Palace walls.
hear
14 How the youthful Harlot's curse
15 Blasts the new born Infant's tear,
Marriage hearse.
Holy Thursday from Songs of Innocence
1 'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,
2 The children walking two and two, in red and blue and green,
3 Grey-headed beadles walk'd before, with wands as white as snow,
4 Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames' waters flow.
5 O what a multitude they seem'd, these flowers of London town!
6 Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own.
7 The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs,
8 Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands.
9 Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song,
10 Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of Heaven among.
11 Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor;
12 Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.
Holy Thursday�from Songs of Experience�
1 Is this a holy thing to see
2 In a rich and fruitful land,
3 Babes reduc'd to misery,
4 Fed with cold and usurous hand?
5 Is that trembling cry a song?
6 Can it be a song of joy?
7 And so many children poor?
8 It is a land of poverty!
9 And their sun does never shine,
10 And their fields are bleak and bare,
11 And their ways are fill'd with thorns:
12 It is eternal winter there.
13 For where-e'er the sun does shine,
14 And where-e'er the rain does fall,
15 Babe can never hunger there,
16 Nor poverty the mind appall.
The Lamb (from Songs of Innocence)
Little Lamb, who made thee
Does thou know who made thee
Gave thee life & bid thee feed.
By the stream & o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing woolly bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice.
Making all the vales rejoice:
Little Lamb who made thee
Does thou know who made thee
Holy Thursday from Songs of Innocence
1 'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,
2 The children walking two and two, in red and blue and green,
3 Grey-headed beadles walk'd before, with wands as white as snow,
4 Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames' waters flow.
5 O what a multitude they seem'd, these flowers of London town!
6 Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own.
7 The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs,
8 Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands.
9 Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song,
10 Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of Heaven among.
11 Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor;
12 Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.
Some facts about Chimney Sweepers…
To know that we’re not alone…