William Blake (1757–1827). The Poetical Works. 1908.
Poetical SketchesSong: When early morn walks forth in sober grey
W
Then to my black-eyed maid I haste away;
When evening sits beneath her dusky bow’r,
And gently sighs away the silent hour,
The village bell alarms, away I go,
And the vale darkens at my pensive woe.
Doth drop a tear beneath the silent shade,
I turn my eyes; and pensive as I go
Curse my black stars and bless my pleasing woe.
Whisp’ring faint murmurs to the scanty breeze,
I walk the village round; if at her side
A youth doth walk in stolen joy and pride,
I curse my stars in bitter grief and woe,
That made my love so high and me so low.
And throw all pity on the burning air;
I’d curse bright fortune for my mixèd lot,
And then I’d die in peace and be forgot.