Page:The blue poetry book (IA bluepoetry00lang).pdf/30

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6
NIGHT
  The moon, like a flower  In heaven’s high bower,  With silent delight  Sits and smiles on the night.
Farewell, green fields and happy groves, Where flocks have ta’en delight;Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves The feet of angels bright;  Unseen, they pour blessing,  And joy without ceasing,  On each bud and blossom,  And each sleeping bosom.
They look in every thoughtless nest, Where birds are cover’d warm,They visit caves of every beast, To keep them all from harm:—  If they see any weeping  That should have been sleeping,  They pour sleep on their head,  And sit down by their bed.W. Blake. 


ON A SPANIEL CALLED ‘BEAU’
KILLING A YOUNG BIRD
A spaniel, Beau, that fares like you, Well fed, and at his ease,Should wiser be than to pursue Each trifle that he sees.
But you have killed a tiny bird, Which flew not till to-day,Against my orders, whom you heard Forbidding you the prey.
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